Would That She Would Cleanse Me
by LadyTP
Summary: AU after the Battle of the Blackwater with victorious Stannis. The fate of a certain highborn captive falls on him. Lady Sansa Stark is but a child...or is she? A prompt fill around the theme of 'old wounds', object 'loofah' and characters Stannis and Sansa. My first stansa fic. NOTE: Reposting this in its correct location after mistakenly posting first under wrong login - SORRY!
1. One More Worry

**First Author's Notes: I am sorry, I fu**ed it up... I mistakenly posted this under a new login (I dot know how, some computer mystery), and as I wanted to include this with all my other fics, I simply had to remove the old and post again... So apologies for the mess! I try to be more careful in the future!**

 **Second Author's Notes:** And now for something slightly different… After finishing my latest work, I found myself soon enough wanting to write and for a chance requested for prompts in Tumblr (where my blog is .com). My request consisted of three things: 1) THEME (atmosphere, place, event, emotion - eg. 'comfort', 'battlefield', 'first moonblood', 'jealousy' etc); 2) OBJECT (any concrete object or thing, eg. 'candle', 'dagger', 'puppy' etc); and 3) CHARACTER(S) from ASOIAF (sansan or others, to stretch my writing).

The first prompt I received was from Anonymous as "Stannis/Sansa "Old Wounds" Loofa. And it caught my attention and I started to write…

* * *

Stannis had to duck to avoid being hit in the head by a load of planks carried on the shoulders of a builder, both navigating their way to the opposing directions through the corridors of Red Keep. He took no umbrage at the hapless man though - everyone was busy and the keep was seething activity; men going here and there, carrying things, running errands, shouting, arguing, trying to clean the mess left by the battle.

Yet the overarching impression was order – with a touch of chaos perhaps, but order just the same. And he liked it that way. Stannis was not the kind of war leader who let his men run amok among the conquered. The battle was one thing and ferociousness and mercilessness were to be expected during one, but after it was over, it was time for law and order to return.

Ser Davos Seaworth walked by his side, also ducking and weaving to keep up the pace with his king. They were on their way towards the throne room, where Stannis had called the key members of his council to gather on that first day of his rule.

 _Stannis of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm._

Stannis was not a vain man, but he appreciated the sound of that. Not that it mattered what he thought of it – the kingship was his by law and it was his duty, whether he liked it or not.

Stepping swiftly aside to avoid a crash with two men carrying a trunk between them, Stannis scratched his jaw. The battle had been bloody and prolonged as he had known, and at the end of it when his men had finally secured the keep and the city, he had been so fatigued that he had fallen into his bed still clad in his battle gear and had slept soundless sleep until the morning. And then it had been time only for a quick change of clothes, no time for a shave, and now the new growth was making his neck itch.

Better to put that down just as one more inconvenience of the pointless war.

 _Orderliness, stability, lawfulness. Look how I have to clean up your mess, big brother? Had you looked over your queen better, had you taken a firm hand in the upbringing of the bastard your wife brought into your house, all of this could have been averted._

It had been his brother's room Stannis had been directed to last night, and despite not sacrificing a thought to the fact in his exhaustion, Stannis shuddered now thinking what kind of debaucheries had taken place in that very same bed he had slept. Knowing Robert he knew there were bound to be many and more, and quietly he considered if he should have it removed and a new one brought in for his use.

"My lord?"

Ser Davos sounded out of breath but stubbornly repeated his query.

"Yes, Ser Davos? With whom?" Stannis hadn't taken note of his companion's earlier words and it galled him. It was not like him not to pay attention when important things were discussed.

"Lady Sansa of House Stark. Her fate is now in your hands, Your Grace."

Oh, _that_ girl. Stannis tried to recall what he knew of her. Lord Eddard Stark's eldest daughter, Joffrey Baratheon's betrothed. Had stayed in the King's Landing after her father's execution - what a bloody mess that had been.

"The intended queen for that Lannister woman's bastard?"

"Yes, the very same."

"If she was part of that impostor's inner circle, I would expect to deal with her like with the other traitors."

A soft cough by his side made Stannis to turn and look at Ser Davos. They had almost reached the Great Hall, but instead of pushing the doors open to enter his onion knight slowed his pace and lingered behind them.

"I have heard there is more to it than that. She was apparently not a willing bride, but rather a prisoner of the crown. Tywin Lannister wanted to use her as a key to the North and gain some shreds of legitimacy for his intention to gather it back to the folds of the Seven Kingdoms."

Might be so. Not many women are likely to be endeared by those who cold-bloodedly executed their family. Or children, for that matter. The girl was indeed just a child, Stannis now recalled hearing.

"She is also very young," Davos added as if he had read his thoughts. It was an unnerving habit of his, but also very useful - most of the time.

Stannis stopped, thought the matter for a moment and then pushed it aside. He had much more pressing things to worry about than a fate of a young girl.

"I will think upon it. For now, make sure that she has all she needs and is treated with the courtesy her position deserves. Now, shall we move on?"

* * *

The day and the one that followed were busy, even busier than the ones preceding the battle. There were letters to write and send across the realm, meetings to be had, prisoners to interrogate, decisions to make. Stannis had hardly time to sit down for a proper meal but that didn't bother him. This was what he was born to do; to rule and to bring justice and order into the sorry mess that had been his brother's doing.

On the afternoon of the third day, Ser Davos came behind him and coughed again, softly, without opening his mouth to speak. And immediately Stannis knew what was coming. _The girl._

Ser Davos was his most trusted and most loyal man and had laboured by his side tirelessly, executing his commands efficiently and without a question. Why would he be so concerned about this child? He liked children, that much Stannis knew. He had seven sons of his own – a matter of which, had he had a covetous bone in his body, Stannis would have been envious – and he did get along very well with his own daughter Shireen.

"Lady Sansa, I know. I have not forgotten." Stannis leaned back in his chair and stretched himself. They were seated in a king's private audience chamber Stannis has commanded to be fitted as his own to meet with people without the curious eyes of the whole court.

The resemblance of order had returned and with it, the life in the court had started to flow much as it had always been; court sessions in the Great Hall, courtly meals in the Dining Hall, a flow of auditions and petitions by the many who had arrived to seek justice or vengeance, all peppered with frequent meetings of the Small Council. It was much diminished, the previous council members either having escaped or being imprisoned, but Stannis had plans to fill the positions soon with his own men.

Ser Davos only looked at him, his brown eyes soft. Stannis liked that about him; he didn't speak if it was not necessary, unlike many others who apparently felt that a moment was wasted if not filled with meaningless words.

"And I have, as a matter of fact, come to a conclusion. According to the information I have received," a small nod to indicate that Stannis recognised who had been the main source of it, "she was indeed a prisoner rather than an accomplice. I acknowledge that and shall not treat her harshly."

"What do you mean to with her, then?"

Stannis frowned. "I still have to deal with her brother, the one who dares to fashion himself as the King in the North."

"It is not your crown he rebelled against but that of Joffrey Baratheons," Davos said quietly.

"I know that, of course. But now that the false king has fallen, he should see the error of his ways and return back to the realm like a good lord should."

"It has been but a few days since our victory. The word may not have even reached him yet."

"And that's why I plan to be patient with him. I trust he is a man of honour like his father and hence I have decided to return his sister to him as a token of my good will."

Ser Davos bowed his head. "Very well, Your Grace."

"As a matter of fact, no need to keep the news from the child herself. Summon her to the Great Hall this evening and I will share my decision with her directly."

Instead of approval Stannis expected to see on Davos' face, he only saw unease.

"What now, isn't that good enough?" His tone carried a sharp tone of annoyance. He was being magnanimous; what else could Ser Davos want?

"The same sources where I got my information tell me she was often summoned to the throne room to answer for the real and perceived crimes of his family. She was not treated kindly, and I fear she might be prone to expect the same should you summon her."

"How else am I supposed to convey these good news to her? I am not Joffrey and the sooner she learns that the better for her."

"If I may be as bold as to suggest, maybe you could visit her chambers in person? Just for the first meeting, to assure her that any fears she may hold are unfounded. Her chambers are not far from yours, the third door on the lower corridor under your own chambers."

Stannis clenched his jaw. Gods, he was the King, not an errand boy! Why would it be his concern what some foolish girl-child thought or feared? With a sharp reprimand already at the tip of his tongue, he however swallowed it. Ser Davos was overstepping his position; he knew it, and he knew that Stannis knew it. So why?

Deciding to let the matter drop Stannis waved at Ser Davos and dismissed him with muttered words about how he had better things to do with his time and the time for the girl to attend the court would come sooner or later.

Left to his own devices he finished a few more letters, reviewed the schedule for the next day, read exclamations meant to be read out loud in the market places across the King's Landing and soon enough found himself done with the tasks he had set for himself.

Glancing out of the window Stannis saw from the position of the sun that it was soon time for dinner. Time to change into something more regal than the practical and comfortable attire he preferred to wear when attending his matters of office.

He sighed. One more burden of the kingship, not only to act but also look the part. Well, nothing into it but to do it.

* * *

Stannis walked as he did everything else; with a purpose, briskly, not letting his aim wander, and soon he was climbing up the stairs to the king's rooms. Passing the entrance to the lower corridor Davos's words came back to him. _'The third door on the lower corridor'._

He stopped, considered it, and shrugging his shoulders - _why not, I have time -_ he turned and entered the dark passageway. The visit should take but a few minutes and if that got Davos out of his back about the girl, the better.

 **Notes:**

This is indeed my first attempt on stansa fic, and it has been very interesting exercise, and likely to become even more interesting as the story progresses. Do share your thoughts - and I am not averse to constructive criticism either!


	2. Most Untoward

First…second…third…that was it. A nondescript heavy wooden door, no ornaments. No guards around it either, as was fitting for the guest of the king instead of the captive.

Stannis knocked on the door. And waited.

Nothing.

Ser Davos had said something about the girl hiding in her rooms and not having been seen out of them ever since the battle. If that was so, where was she?

After having waited for longer than decency and good manners called for, Stannis started to lose his patience. He glanced at the door latch and saw that it wasn't locked from the outside and seemed the type that couldn't be locked from the inside. Maybe Davos had been wrong all along, maybe this wasn't the right room? Just as he tentatively placed his hand on the handle, he heard something. The sounds were muffled coming through the heavy door, but were some sort of scraping noises indicating that someone was in the room.

Being thoroughly annoyed by now – he _was_ the King of the Seven Kingdoms and he didn't have time for this kind of foolery – Stannis pressed down and the door opened.

He stepped in.

Stannis wasn't quite sure what he expected to see; a girl cowering under a bed perhaps, a frightened child whimpering in the corner? Whatever it had been, he didn't see any such thing. As a matter of fact, he saw no one; just an empty room. It was furnished with simple but well-made furniture and its crude brick walls were covered by heavy wall hangings, the signs of current occupation being an abandoned embroidery, some ladies trinkets and a few books on a side table, and an ornate trunk in the corner.

Stannis took a few more steps, assessing the scene and concluding that his ears must have deceived him after all. Just as he was about to turn on his heels to go back, he however caught something from the corner of his eye. A pair of curtains, drawn partially close but with large enough gap to see between them, covering an entrance to a side room. And there, in a small garderobe, he saw a large wooden bathtub filled with water.

Still puzzled by this indication that somebody was obviously _supposed_ to be in, bathwater being still so hot that it was steaming, a head of a girl emerged from under the surface with a splash and a loud intake of breath.

 _So that's why she didn't hear my knock,_ the analytical part of his brain told him. _She is taking a bath!_ the less analytical part shouted, and Stannis recoiled. His timing had been exceedingly unfortunate and the sooner he got out of there the better.

While considering what were his chances to leave before the girl noticed him, Stannis observed this newly emerged creature. Long auburn hair _– yes, Lord Eddard's lady was red-headed like most Tullys_ – slender shoulders, slight frame. Her back was towards him but at an angle, and the sunlight from the window fell upon it. After having caught her breath she gathered her long tresses above her head and started to slather them with a soap – and then Stannis noticed them. And froze on his spot.

 _Wounds._ Old wounds. Scars, to be exact, although some of them seemed to have been inflamed and were still fresh as new.

That slender back was emblazoned with lines of heavy contusions, some edged with ragged incisions. All below her neckline, ordered and neat, and without the faintest shred of doubt, deliberately inflicted. No accident or mishap could have caused such straight lines and so evenly spaced.

Stannis had seen his share of injuries just like any army commander was won't to. He had seen a man's back shredded to a bloody pulp after severe flogging, and he recognised immediately that such treatment could not be the origin of these marks. The lines were wide, some of the edges already having fainted into a whitish scar tissue, some being red scabs that were still healing. One particular line had grown angry red and swollen, suggesting it had healed poorly.

Stannis's mind run feverishly through the list of possibilities. Hit with a flat of the blade perhaps? A blade, when drawn back, causing the bloody cuts?

 _…not treated kindly…_

Not indeed. Anger started to bubble inside him, emerging from the depths of his ingrained belief of justness. This girl – this _child_ – had done nothing to deserve such brutish treatment. That she had been held captive as an important piece of a political game and as a surety for her brother's good behaviour, he understood and although didn't particularly like, accepted. But this – inflicting bodily harm on a minor – he could not.

Without noticing it at first, Stannis clenched his fists so tight that his nails bit hard into the flesh of his palms. Should his own daughter be captured by his enemies and used so ill… He was seeing red just from the thought. Seething, he stood there and watched, in his fury even forgetting for a moment that what he was doing was highly improper; spying on a noble maiden in her private moment.

After evidently being satisfied with the state of her hair the girl leaned forward and submerged her head under the water. The fine line of her back showed even clearer now, the faint knobs of her spine curving gracefully, its beauty in dire contradiction with the ugliness of her wounds.

But what was worse was that in such angle Stannis could see the side of her breast; a firm small mound, not as ample as that of some other women, but unmistakably a womanly breast of a young maiden.

 _Not a child, after all._

She had been expected to wed shortly, marry and do her duty to her lord husband. Stannis knew how those things worked and he should not have been surprised. Yet the sight had caught him unawares, and rooted to his spot he now swayed between wanting to walk away, and yet not being able to draw his eyes from her.

The girl had by then reached and grabbed a yellowish object from a low side stool – it might have been the sound of it being dragged towards the bath that Stannis had heard earlier – and proceeded to scrub herself with it. He recognised it; a dried specimen of some kind of an exotic plant imported from Summer Isles for those who could afford the luxury it provided for cleaning oneself – _loofah_ it was called, or some such name. He had never had one but Davos had talked of such things when he had told him tales about his old profession to pass the time in the evenings during the many campaigns they had spent together. Smuggling highly taxed luxury goods had been apparently as good a trade as had been smuggling of weapons or other more nefarious contraband.

The girl lifted her leg above the water and after lathering the piece with more soap started to wash herself in earnest. Long slow strokes, systematically wiping all the way from the top of her toes to her thigh and lower, under the water line.

At the thought of what lay there Stannis's cock twitched alarmingly. Just a twitch, not reaching full hardness – but that was disturbing enough. He prided himself on being above weaknesses of bodily lust and usually paid no attention to female charms, be they presented to him in the form of a low neckline of a noble lady or a generous behind of a camp-follower.

So how was it possible that he, the King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, was standing in this room staring at a girl who was young enough to be his daughter, his own cock betraying him so blatantly?! Stannis felt disgusted by his own inexcusable behaviour.

And still, he didn't move.

One leg, then another, then one arm, then another. Her movements were poised and everything Stannis saw spoke of beauty and refinement. The auburn hair that now fell freely down her shoulders and back hid the earlier gruesome sight and she looked… _perfect._

Stannis was entirely aware how improper his conduct was. Should it have been any of his men caught gawking at a noble lady in her bath he would have been reprimanded harshly, and truly, he deserved the same. Yet something in the sight mesmerized him and it didn't seem…wrong. His gaze was not lascivious, not even if his cock still exhibited signs of having a mind of its own, forcing him to press it down against his leg in order not to feel even more ridiculous. No, he didn't look upon this girl as an object of lust, but that of exquisiteness and elegance.

His life having been filled with duty and service in the company of soldiers and sailors, Stannis had rarely witnessed something that could be enjoyed only for the pure sensory delight it could convey. He had though he didn't particularly even care about such things. He didn't. Truly didn't. And yet…

He shifted on his feet. The room felt suddenly unbearably hot and it was not the faint wisps of heat from the bath that made it so.

Submerging her whole body once more fully under the water the girl emerged, sighed deeply and squeezed the water out of her long hair with practiced hands. Then she braced her hands on top of the sides of the tub - and started to rise.

Stannis stiffened. He had been there too long and couldn't pretend to have entered just then – she would have heard the door if he had. His only chance was to leave, and leave now, before she was fully up. He had noticed a folded towel on another stool in front of the bathtub, and undoubtedly the girl's next move would be to turn around to reach for it.

Forcing his muscles into action – and ignoring the sensation in his private parts caused by the notion of seeing her in her full, glorious nakedness – Stannis turned around as quietly as he could. One step, two steps – and then his foot hit against something on the floor with a thump. Had it been his habit to swear as other men did, he would have cursed loud and clear using the colourful language many years among the troops had exposed him to. But as it was, there was no outlet for his utmost frustration and exasperation.

Of course she had heard the noise and of course she turned her head towards it. That, however, didn't stop Stannis who rushed out of the room, his last sight being her big blue eyes, widened in horror.

 _She saw me._

Stannis stumbled into the corridor and with a gargantuan effort collected himself and walked determinedly to the upper floor, not stopping until he reached the privacy of his own rooms.


	3. Facing It Like A Man

**Author's Notes:** Well, loofah out of the way (for good…? we'll see!) it is time to tackle the aftermath. My interpretation of Stannis's reaction to what happened may not be quite what might have been expected – but you'll be the judge of it!

* * *

Stannis intended to brush aside the whole incident as one of no consequence. Of course it was embarrassing for the king to be caught as a peeping tom, but only the girl had seen him - and she was in no position to start throwing accusations around. No, better forget the whole thing ever happened.

In that he mostly succeeded, being swept off his feet by the efforts of establishing his new reign, quenching any remaining opposition and deciding which of the many ills of his kingdom required his most urgent attention.

The false king still lived, unfortunately. Joffrey hadn't been seen anywhere near the battle - the coward - thus preventing the convenient death in the battlefield. Robert had had it easy, Prince Rhaegar having had enough honour to defend his kingdom in person and enough bad luck – or not enough skill - to die in the process. Mad King Aegon had been taken care of by much more disagreeable manner, but what had been done, had been done, and no point arguing over spilt milk.

Instead of a clean slate Stannis had to decide what to do with the bastard, his siblings and that tiresome Lannister woman. Kill or imprison them for the rest of their lives? And deal with Tywin Lannisters wrath? The Imp had disappeared into a thin air and whether he was dead or escaped, nobody knew. There was much and more to do, so he most certainly had no time to brood over an unfortunate incident, especially such an insignificant one as that in the bigger scheme of things.

* * *

Stannis sighed and rubbed his wrist in a slow motion to release the tension caused by too many letters of confidential nature that had to be written by his own hand. Absentmindedly he stared at the fireplace at the end of the King's chamber, yellow and orange flames dancing among the darkened logs. _Orange like the colour of the girl's hair where the rays of the setting sun had made it shine._

It was times like these when he was tired and the many tasks ahead of him seemingly never-ending that the image of her came back to him. In the past, Stannis had gained momentary respite by closing his eyes and conjuring images of churning waves hitting the shores of Dragonstone, the unrelenting motion of sea always soothing his mind and taking him away from the tedium of reality. Now all he saw when he squeezed his eyes shut was the girl, her form imprinted in his memory as clearly as if she was bathing in front of him this very moment.

 _The woman,_ Stannis corrected himself. _The maid._ And most certainly not a _child_.

He massaged his temples in an attempt to thwart a looming headache and dropped the quill he was holding. As always, nothing escaped his companion's notice.

"Your Grace? I believe this is enough for the day. The rest can wait until tomorrow for sure."

"If I was in need of a nursemaid, Ser Davos, I would appoint one for myself. Your many talents would be wasted in such a position."

If Davos minded his sharp words he didn't let it show, instead calmly collecting the last of the scrolls from the desk and arranging them into a neat pile for the King's many scribes to find them in the morning when the work started anew. Stannis had sent them away only moments before, their services not being needed for the nonce.

"I am happy to serve you in any position you may see fit to appoint me – or not. Nonetheless, nothing here truly is so urgent that it would need your attention right now," Davos said while brushing away the detritus of crumbled sealing wax, quill shavings, and odd bits of parchment from the table with his sleeve.

"Fine. Be it so, then." Pushing the image of the bathing beauty out of his head Stannis stood up, slowly.

"Only one thing, Your Grace." From the look Davos gave him, Stannis guessed what was coming. And he was right.

"Lady Sansa hasn't been told of her fate yet. I hear she is getting rather restless."

Stannis had told Davos that he had attempted to go and see the girl but she hadn't opened her door, and no further discussion had ensued about the matter - until now, three days later. He himself had been loath to approach the topic. Firstly, he had been wroth with Davos for suggesting the harebrained scheme that got him into that awkward situation in the first place, and secondly, he simply didn't want to see her. At least not until her image had left his mind for good.

What he _had_ done, however, seeing it as his duty, had been to send someone to look after the girl's wounds. He had almost summoned Davos to take care of it, but at the last moment realising that it would raise a question why he thought it necessary, Stannis had held back. Then he had thought of sending a maester himself, but the thought of the old man Pycelle had put him off. Citadel-trained or not, Stannis suspected he hadn't treated many battle injuries of late – and that's what he had seen. Wounds inflicted by a sharp steel.

In the end, he had called for the most senior barber-surgeon of his troops, a middle-aged and experienced man, whom he hoped to have enough respectability to deal with a noble maid – and enough discretion to keep his mouth shut.

"Hmmph", Stannis let out a noncommittal sound to give himself time to think. Sansa Stark had to be told about his decision, of course. She had to be coaxed out of that room and treated as a highborn lady she was, and he couldn't postpone the inevitable meeting forever. As unpleasant as it was going to be, he had to face her sooner or later.

Pulling into his full height Stannis made up his mind. He couldn't and wouldn't summon her to the throne room after seeing with his own eyes what had been done to her there. And he needed to resolve the unfortunate quandary he had placed both of them himself, rather than expect someone else to do it for him, or ignore it until it festered. The last thing he wanted was to start his diplomatic dealings with the North on the wrong foot simply because of a minor misunderstanding.

Stannis pursed his lips together. As always when a disagreeable task needed to be done, it was best to meet it head on like a man.

"Very well. Call for her, then."

"Now?" Davos stared at him, surprised.

"Yes, now. Send a few men to fetch her here. I will see her before I leave for the night."

Nodding Davos turned towards the door to command the soldiers behind it.

"Tell them to treat her with respect and assure her that she has nothing to be worried about," Stannis shouted after the man's retreating back and then felt foolish for doing so.

* * *

Soon enough he heard heavy footsteps behind the door and it opened. Two men, Stannis's own troops from the Dragonstone, walked in with a tall slender figure between them.

 _Sansa Stark._

Ser Davos entered last but blended into the background as was his habit in formal occasions.

"Lady Sansa of House Stark, Your Grace," Ser Harmon, the head of his guards, announced and likewise stepped aside.

Stannis had scrutinised her all the way from the door and noticed how just as she was announced she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and raised her head to meet him. For reasons he couldn't explain he found that he liked it. No cowering, no shying away - the girl had courage.

"Your Grace." Nobody could find fault in her curtsey, polished and deep as due for the King. She stayed down for a long time, her eyes demurely looking at the floor.

"Rise, Lady Sansa," Stannis said simply, still not sure what would be the best way to address his earlier discourtesy.

She did – and the second thing Stannis noticed was her dress. Normally he had no eyes whatsoever for such frivolous things and cared about them even less, but the gown she was wearing was clearly too small for her. Intended for someone much smaller – or after looking her over, Stannis revised his initial observation to much _younger_.

It was short in the hem and tight on the bodice, pushing her breasts alarmingly high towards her neckline. Without intending to, that was where Stannis's attention was drawn to, the memory of the supple curve still fresh in his mind.

She noticed it too and her demeanour changed. She didn't exactly shy away, but there was a subtle shudder, drop of her shoulders and an instinctive recoil.

 _Not the clean new start he had hoped for._

Stannis coughed.

"Leave us."

The guards bowed and retired in unison.

"You too, Ser Davos."

That earned him a raised eyebrow – but just slighty, Davos knowing better than to show his puzzlement openly. Glancing at Lady Sansa he too bowed and left, the sound of his steps fading and leaving Stannis and his guest in utter silence.


	4. Awkwardness

_What now?_

Stannis watched her, this time making sure to keep his attention in her face. She returned the look, but it was cautious and wary.

Once again Stannis's ire was roused. What had they done to this girl for her to be so mistrustful of her king?

"Lady Sansa, I owe you an apology. It was not my intention to spy on you so disrespectfully the other day; I only desired to inform you about my decision and hence I came to your rooms. I knocked on the door but you must not have heard me."

 _How come his explanation sounded so much triter when he said it out loud than what he had imagined it in his head?_

She watched him still, her blue eyes narrowing for a moment before she curtseyed again.

"As you say, Your Grace. There is nothing for you to apologise for."

Instead of it making him feel better it only served to irritate Stannis even more and he shifted on his seat, agitatedly. Looking up at her from his desk didn't convey the usual sensation of being in charge as it normally did. Maybe he should have waited for her standing up.

"Do not denigrate yourself, Lady Sansa. You know as well as I that it was most untoward and not how a king should behave. I have no excuses for my poor behaviour and I don't need you to make any."

That unnerving silence again. Quite unexpectedly Stannis found himself hoping that she would be like other girls, teary and emotional, rather than this calm and collected iron maiden. Steeling himself he doggedly persevered with his mission.

"Now that we have settled the matter, I wish to share with you my plans pertaining to your position."

In a few precise sentences Stannis described his intention to return her to her kin, and his hope that it would convey his good intentions to her brother.

"You shall not seek to wed me to one of your retainers?"

Stannis was taken aback. Was that what she had feared? To be forced from one unwanted marriage to another like a chattel?

"No, my lady, I most certainly am not. Your marriage is a matter for your brother to decide. All I wish from you is that you go back to your family and deliver my assurances that if Lord Stark lets go of the notion of independent North and swears allegiance to me, his true king, I will treat with him as fairly as my brother King Robert treated with your lord father."

She seemed to consider his words thoughtfully, but some signs of doubts were still evident on her face when she spoke.

"You mean this truly?"

"Of course I mean it truly. I don't know what kind of company you have kept, my lady, but when I say something, I mean it. And you would do well to learn it."

"It hasn't been the company of my own choosing, Your Grace."

 _Of course not._ Stannis felt foolish – and it was a rare and unpleasant feeling for him. The direction the discussion was heading was making him uncomfortable; he was not used to conversing with young maidens in the best of times, and there was something decidedly unnerving in Sansa Stark.

And it was not only the fact that he had seen her naked in the bath and reacted to it in the most shameful way.

Stannis decided it was time for him to take the upper hand, so he stood up and walked from behind his desk to stand in front of the girl. Now it was her turn to look up at him and for some reason, it restored some of his confidence.

"Be that as it may, I will not force unwanted company on you any longer. You may leave."

"That is not what I meant, Your Grace!" That seemed to shake her out of her unperturbedness and in a small, petty way, Stannis felt better because of it. He knew it was ridiculous to be disturbed by a mere maid, and to distract himself from it he sought for something else to say.

"I have said what I wanted to say. Before you leave, though, is there anything you need to make your stay more comfortable? "

"No, Your Grace, I have all I need." She had lost some of her composure, but stood erect, only slight tremor in her frame betraying her nervousness. Stannis tried again.

"You are the guest of my court and you have the freedom of the castle to come and go as you please. And you are welcome to join the meals in the great hall. Or not, as you wish." As an afterthought, he added, "But use your freedom within reason. You may choose to take your maid with you if you seek to move about the keep."

"I don't have a maid, Your Grace."

Stannis was surprised. "What do you mean? Who takes care of your needs?"

"I did have one, but she disappeared during the battle. I suspect she escaped, or worse."

"You have my word that no foul came upon any woman of the keep from my men. They know their orders and follow them." Stannis thought for a moment. That whole world of noble ladies and their maids was foreign to him but he knew something of the propriety.

"You will be appointed one. Choose anyone you like, I let the steward know." Glancing at her and once again being caught by the inappropriateness of her too tight dress he added, "You may also want to get yourself a new outfit."

She blushed at that and curtseyed once more, if possible even deeper than earlier. It was an act of natural deference toward the king, but in this situation it irked Stannis. He reached down to grab her hand and pulled her up to her feet.

Her fingers were delicate and her skin soft, so very soft, a stark contrast to things he usually held; steel, parchment, leather.

"No need to curtsey to me when we are in private, Lady Sansa. I see that you acknowledge me as your true king and that knowledge is enough. In public it is a different matter, of course. There is an etiquette to be observed."

She was up and although Stannis could have – _should_ have – released his grip on her, he didn't. She didn't seem to mind, though, only watching him attentively.

The hive of activity in the keep had subsided and with that the usual sounds, only the crackling of fire, faint rustling from the dark corners of the room where mice had ventured out on their nightly journeys, and a shout or two of the late watch reaching them through the closed window.

"One more thing. I will command a lock to be installed in your rooms. The kind that can be locked from the inside."

A small smiled curved the line of her lips – and with that came transformation. The iron maiden disappeared and in her place a young girl, her face open. Stannis found himself responding to it without intending, with the slightest pull at the corner of his mouth.

It was like a jest only two of them knew.

"Thank you, Your Grace, you are very kind." By then Stannis had released her and she looked like she was gathering herself to curtsey again, but stopped, hands frozen to hold the folds of her dress. She bent her head instead, just a fraction, to show her appreciation, a shadow of a smile still on her face.

Was that all it took to please her? A lock on her door – a smidgen of privacy?

"I will call someone to escort you back to your rooms."

Ser Davos and the guards entered at his command, and Stannis conveyed his orders to them in a low voice, then nodded to Sansa as a sign of farewell.

"Lady Sansa."

"Your Grace."

And then she was gone.


	5. No Rest

**Author's Notes:** Will Stannis and Sansa meet again? What is Stannis thinking? Did Sansa get a new dress? Was it pretty? These, and many other questins will be answered in this new chapter – wee-hee!

* * *

For the next few days Stannis didn't spare a single thought for Sansa Stark. Parts of the keep and the city had be to rebuild after all the disturbances the war had wrought, and that meant going through a number of plans and proposals and interviewing suitable men to be appointed to the many tasks. Most things he left to others, but there were issues were his own supervision was necessary.

In addition, the King's new Small Council started to attack reshaping of the realm in earnest, and many days he stayed with them for long and exhausting hours. It was hard work, with many council seats still empty, but Stannis didn't waver from his intention to fill it with good men, capable men, men who knew their business. He had grudgingly accepted Lord Varys back, knowing the subtle power he wielded with his extensive networks and knowledge – and recognising that it was better to have him as an ally rather than an enemy, even if it meant keeping a close eye on him. Ser Davos served as his Hand, Stannis ignoring the grumblings it caused in the old nobility. That would show them that his rule was based on capability rather than old blood, shady political alliances or favours curried.

He had called Ser Axell Florent from the Dragonstone to take up the position of Master of Laws, and one of his most trusted captains, Lord Monford or House Velaryon, as the Master of Ships. For the position of Grand Maester Stannis didn't waste much time; the old totterer Pycelle might do as well as any for now, but once things settled, he was going to turn to Citadel in search for a suitable replacement. As for the Master of Coin, he planned to take the role for himself for the time being. He didn't trust anyone else, not the least after the officiations of that slimy Littlefinger, who had conveniently disappeared during the chaos.

Yes, his days were busy - but his nights were a different thing altogether.

* * *

Stannis had ordered his bed to be replaced, a deed he knew to be irrational but had commanded it nonetheless. He didn't condone fornication and the knowledge that so much of it had taken place where he slept had made his skin crawl.

That he gave his order after an unusually restless night, after which he had woken up to find a crust of his own seed on his stomach, was not a coincidence. He had not experienced such a thing since he had been but a boy, and Stannis wondered whether it was the echo of debauchery of the past that had caused it.

Yet the new bed, freshly hewn and still smelling of tree sap, didn't change things for the better.

If anything, things turned to worse. His nights were filled with sensuous dreams, more often than not crowded by images of auburn hair glistening wet against white skin, long limbs, a curve of a shapely calf, roundness of a slender shoulder.

At first, Stannis tried to rationalise and ignore them. He hadn't lain with his wife for a long time and such urges were known to be normal for men – and he _had_ witnessed a sight of a semi-naked woman just a short time ago. He told himself that his mind was only roaming in the darkness of the night making senseless connections which didn't mean a thing.

Then he tried to push them away, focussing on filling his mind with more appropriate images. He studied the building plans and drawings until late in the evening, hoping to see forms and shapes of new walls and buildings instead. Maybe even gain an inspiration or two from them.

No such luck.

In the end, Stannis simply resigned himself to his fate, accepting that the girl had somehow against all expectations sneaked under his skin. Yes, her looks would be appealing to any man - but that was all there was. Simply an appreciation of beauty in youth, as frivolous, futile and unlike his usual self as it was.

After the girl would leave his court the disturbing dreams would stop, Stannis told himself. And punched the pillow under his head and untangled the blanket from between his legs for the hundredth time.

* * *

It didn't help that by the third evening after their meeting Sansa Stark attended the meal in the hall – not at the King's table, but sitting in one of the lower ones. She wore a new dress that was certainly an improvement size-wise, but almost too much to the other extreme. It hung loosely on her body and was clearly acquired from a much larger woman - but at least it was decent.

Nothing in that modest attire should have drawn a man's eye, but more often than not Stannis found himself watching her.

If it had been up to him, Stannis would have preferred to take his meals in the privacy of his own rooms or in the company of a few trusted companions - but being a king meant he had to act like one, even if it meant foolish parading in front of the court to be seen and heard. Stannis didn't like it, but he recognised its value and so he did it. The meals were also an opportunity to observe the members of his new administration; see who whispered with whom and how he was regarded by all the new lords who had jumped to his side after the Lannister's loss. He could talk to them and gauge their utility, and afterwards discuss his impressions with those he trusted, get their input and decide what needed to be done.

Being a king was an arduous undertaking and more and more Stannis started to understand why Robert had been so loathe to take it seriously. It didn't excuse him or his actions - of course it didn't - but having known his brother's short attention span and dislike of administration, Stannis thought he could at least understand him a little bit better.

Leaving the hall that evening his steps took him past the table where Lady Sansa was sitting, and on an impulse, he stopped beside her seat.

"Your Grace." She hurried to her feet only to fall down again in an elegant curtsey.

"Lady Sansa."

She got up on her own this time, glancing at her seat, probably expecting him to keep on moving. He didn't.

"I see you have a new attire, my lady. Yet it seems almost as unsuited to you as the previous one."

"Yes, Your Grace. This requires some taking in, but I am rather skilled with a needle and will make the necessary alterations promptly."

Stannis frowned. Needlework such as embroidery and ornamental cloths were expected of noble ladies, but surely not sewing their own clothes?

"Nonsense. There are seamstresses in the court who can take care of such matters and make you new clothes." He turned to the steward's assistant who had been shadowing him.

"Make sure that the supervisor of the royal wardrobe visits Lady Sansa and that seamstresses are assigned to make her a new dress. Surely there are some rolls of cloth left behind in the queen's coffers that could be used?"

Turning back to Sansa who stared at him incredulously, he added, "Make your pick of the patterns and style as you wish."

Then, raising his voice so that the others around them could hear him, "Lady Sansa is the guest of this court and in the absence of her family it is my duty to make sure she is well appointed as the lady in her position should."

Why he felt compelled to add that he didn't know. King's decisions on all matters were above question, so why justify them?

Walking away Stannis spared a moment to consider the costs but dismissed them soon enough after judging them to be minimal. He was well aware of all the luxuries confiscated from Cersei Lannister's personal stores and since he didn't expect Queen Selyse to get much joy out of rich brocades and silks, it was just as well if somebody else did.

* * *

The next evening Lady Sansa was still wearing the same dress, but it had indeed been modified to better fit around her curves. Stannis avoided her studiously and concentrated on his dining companions, old and new faces around the tables, anything else but her.

Staring down at his plate Stannis picked at the food which he ate sparingly as always, gluttony being a vice almost as bad as lechery. It was tasteless in his mouth but he chewed it meticulously and flushed it down with lemon water. Only after Ser Davos repeated his question whether he thought the fish caught at Blackwater Bay was as tasty as that taken from the waters of Dragonstone did Stannis realise he had been eating fish all along, rather than mutton as he had thought. He stared at the morsel in his fork but had no answer to give. In the end, Ser Davos gave up and turned to talk to the castellan on his other side.

Stannis succeeded in his mission of avoiding the girl – mostly - and at the end of the meal felt relieved of having been able to rid himself of that most unseemly fixation.

…only to find his focus wandering towards her the next evening.

Over time Stannis saw how the girl's initial unease left her and she became more conversational, addressing other ladies of the new Baratheon court with politeness and interest. How she ate as daintily as she seemed to do everything, breaking bread into small pieces before putting them into her mouth. How she pushed back her hair, held in a simple Northern style, when it threatened to fall on her platter. How she laughed at something someone had said, throwing her head back and exposing her slender throat.

Stannis was never too obvious with his observations, but a few times he caught Ser Davos watching him in silence, averting his eyes as soon as he saw that Stannis had noticed.


	6. The Letter

**Author's Notes:** Somehow this story seems to have run away from me! This was intended to be only a short vignette, a few tight scenes – and here we are, rambling away… It seems that as in this fic we don't get Sansa's thoughts and emotions, it needs a bit more building via more scenes to make her actions more understandable. Meh. Or maybe I just like to write. In any case, here we go again, another 'pointless' scene where nothing much happens… So sue me… :-)

* * *

Life in the southern parts of Westeros was slowly returning to the resemblance of normalcy – as much as anything in that war-ravaged country could be called normalcy. The Crownlands and the Stormlands were pacified and hostilities elsewhere seemed to have halted for a moment. Whatever Tywin Lannister was planning in that remote rock of his, he seemed to be content to bide his time. And that was fine by Stannis Baratheon, who could use every moment he had to settle down the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.

Houses Tyrell and Martell had already declared for him, and House Arryn pretending to be outside the squabbles of the realm and House Greyjoy still waging their own irritating rebellion, it was Starks and Tullys that were in the cliff-hanger position. Should Lord Robb be satisfied that his seek for justice and revenge for his lord father would be forthcoming, he might swear his allegiance to King Stannis yet. And likely bring Tullys and Arryns too to his side.

Stannis sat in his audience chambers alone for a change, dark shadows falling in the room and the first chill of evening creeping its way up his calves. He was frowning over the map of his domains spread onto the wide table in the middle of the room. His fingers traced the outlines of the border between the Riverlands and the Vale, the rough skin of his fingertips catching every now and then the softness of hide the map had been drawn onto.

Yes, it was all about the North.

He hadn't called Sansa Stark to his rooms since their first meeting there – but now he had a good reason to do so.

* * *

"I am sending a personal missive to Lord Stark and thought that you may want to add your own note to it," King Stannis said to Lady Sansa, once more invited to his study and now standing in front of his desk, tall and regal. "Anything you want. A personal message to your lady mother, a few sisterly words to your brother, whatever you wish."

He raised his eyes to gauge her reaction and was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath and a flush on the girl's cheeks. The new dress had finally made its appearance on her, and as little as Stannis knew about such matters, even he could see that it fitted like a glove without being too vulgar, and its colours suited her well. To his approval it wasn't too gaudy or rich – no clothes of gold for her or sumptuous embroideries, but rather simple blue brocade with a bunch of grey roses or some such decorating her neckline and waist.

She leant forward, eagerly.

"Really? I would love to! Thank you so much, Your Grace!"

"Alwind, give Lady Sansa some writing utensils and seat her on your desk." Stannis addressed his young scribe who didn't waste time fulfilling his orders. None of his men did.

Still flushed, Sansa sat down, grabbed the quill and stared at the parchment in front of her. She smoothed the lap of her dress with a jerking movement, thus revealing her nervousness.

"Is something amiss, my lady?"

"No! I just… the last time I wrote to my brother I did it under the orders of Queen Cersei and wrote things that were untrue. I am not sure how my letter will be received after that."

"Rest assured I will not seek to influence your writing in any shape or form," Stannis replied dryly – then relented. "I will make sure in my own letter that he knows that everything that happened to you was done to you against our own will."

The grateful smile she gave him shouldn't have made Stannis feel so content – but it did.

The next little while was spent in a companionable silence, only the sound of many quills scratching against the parchment filling the room. Stannis finished the part he had wanted to write with his own hand and looked up. Lady Sansa had obviously finally found the words as she was busy writing, head bent over the desk. To his contentment Stannis observed her holding her quill confidently, not awkwardly or clumsily.

Soon she too finished, pushed her chair back and admired her handiwork.

"I am done, Your Grace." She took the piece and rose to her feet, waving it in the air to let the ink dry while taking the few steps to reach Stannis. "Here."

Stannis glanced at the prodded parchment, then at her.

"Do you expect me to read it?"

"No… not expect. I thought you may want to inspect what I have written."

"As I said, anything you wish. I am not in the habit of prying other people's communications. Write more if you want. I didn't invite you here expecting you to compose falsehoods or meaningless words. Write whatever is in your mind." He swept his hand across the room pointing at his scribes, heads bent down on their own documents. "I and my administration are perfectly capable of describing the situation and the terms to Lord Robb, you don't need to worry about any of that."

The girl regarded him oddly then, that enigmatic gaze of hers having returned. Then she walked back to the desk, sat down and wrote some more, finally folding her letter into a neat little square and handing it to young Alwind who had hovered unobtrusively in the background.

Stannis had watched her all this time but when she made her way to him again he pretended to have been occupied by the map on his desk. She curtsied, but instead of casting her gaze demurely at the ground, she stared at Stannis throughout. Something flashed in the depths of those blue eyes but Stannis couldn't tell what it was.

"Thank you again, Your Grace. This means a lot to me."

"Let's hope that your brother is as sensible as I expect him to be, being your lord father's son." At the slightest trace of alarm on her face he hastily added, "You will be going home nonetheless, do not fear."

Stannis sensed more than saw Ser Davos's sharp glance from the back of the room. They hadn't discussed the matter in detail, but what if Lord Robb refused to bend the knee? Could he afford to lose the only bargaining chip he had?

Stannis ground his teeth. He had given his word. Besides, if Stark had not made a move to free his sister when she had been held by that Lannister woman and her whelp, why would things be any different now?

"You will still go home, my lady, whatever happens," he repeated. And was rewarded with another shy smile and an unusual spread of warmth deep inside his chest.

* * *

Since then Stannis saw her only at the meals and rarely anywhere elsewhere in the keep, seldom exchanging words with her. Once he walked straight into a gaggle of maidens on his way to the White Tower, the maids cleaving in his wake like a school of fish in the presence of a shark. His eyes spotted the familiar auburn hair in the midst of the group and he stopped, only to see the whole congregation falling into their curtsey. He gestured for them to stand up, traded a few stilted sentences with Lady Sansa and left the scene as fast as he could, his ears burning of discomfiture. Stannis knew he should have paid attention also to the other maids, who were daughters and sisters of his courtiers, but his eyes had only seen her.

And that was not right.

Among his many other correspondences, Stannis also wrote to Queen Selyse requesting formally her and Princess Shireen's arrival to the court at their earliest convenience. The court needed the presence of its queen and the realm needed an heir, even if she was just a girl-child. Stannis knew that Shireen would make an excellent queen, and the sooner he had her under his protection, the sooner she could start learning about governance. And who knew…

For a brief moment, Stannis considered if it truly was too late to try for a son with Selyse, especially after the recent apparent invigoration of his urges with wet dreams and uncomfortable arousals at most inopportune times – usually in the presence of Lady Sansa either in flesh or in his mind. Yet the thought of touching his wife's bony body and seeing the tightening of her thin lips while she endured her duty to her lord husband was like a bucket of cold water thrown on him, and with a sigh, Stannis let go of that particular line of thought.

Undoubtedly Selyse would bring lady Melisandre with her, and although the notion should have given him some satisfaction, Stannis noticed that it too left him cold. Yes, she had promised him a victory and victory he had received, but he liked to think it had been as much and even more so his own doing and that of his men than workings of the Lord of Light. Especially after they had discovered the cache of wildfire clearly intended to be leashed on them. To fight with fire… he shuddered to think what it could have done to his fleet had the ruse to lure them deeper into Blackwater Rush succeeded. Besides, shouldn't fighting with fire be his prerogative if he was to be the Prince That Was Promised, the Azor Ahai reborn?

Stannis stood up and ambled around the room. He was expected to join a Small Council meeting at any minute, where he had already sent the others ahead of him. He went to the side table and lifted the pot of ink, measuring how full it as. So many letters to write, so many missives still needing to be sent. Would he be soon sending out announcements about the joining of the North back to the folds of the Seven Kingdoms?

With increasing agitation, he had been waiting for the news from the North. Hoping them to come and soon – and at the same time recognising that it would mean the departure of Sansa Stark.

Like it mattered to him what the girl did.


	7. Kingsguard

**Author's Notes:** What, once more Stannis needs Sansa in his rooms? My, that kingdom surely doesn't get governed by itself!

To all my fellow sansanites, yay, Sandor finally made his appearance!...sort of... I couldn't leave his fate under a cloud, could I, eh? And rest assured, he will do good, and will not miss the Lannisters at all!

* * *

"Bring Lady Sansa here. No, wait." Stannis raised his hand to halt the guard who had already turned to execute his orders. "Go to her rooms and enquire if she could attend the King's audience chamber presently."

Eight days had gone by since Stannis had offered her the opportunity to write to her kin – eight days during which he had seen her only from the distance.

The man bowed and left, leaving Stannis to continue the document he had just started; orders of what to do with the captive members of the Kingsguard. Or to be precise, those who had not died in the battle; Meryn Trant, Osmund Kettleback, Balon Swann and Sandor Clegane. Normally, depending on their circumstances and affiliations, such retainers of a defeated ruler were either executed on the spot, sent to the Wall, or sentenced to rot in prison for a suitable time before being released and made to swear an oath of allegiance to the new ruler.

None of these men were of importance; only upstarts raised by the Lannister woman or Robert himself, probably in his cups. None were worthy of carrying the white cloak and the legacy of men like Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Gerold Hightower or Ser Arthur Dayne, Stannis thought. His own Kingsguard was yet to be formed, his person so far being protected by his men from the Dragonstone, but most assuredly none of these men were going to be in it.

"Can I be of assistance, Your Grace?" Ser Davos's tone was neutral and voice even, and yet Stannis flinched. The question itself was nothing out of the ordinary – Davos seemed to have a sixth sense of detecting when Stannis needed his help in addressing bannermen's concerns, placating angry lords or dealing with persistent supplicants.

Normally Stannis accepted his offer with relief, especially in situations that required dealing with hurt egos or crushed hopes. But this time…no.

"I thank you for your offer but no, I don't think so, Ser Davos," he replied without lifting his head.

"I would be happy to meet with Lady Sansa and ask any questions you may have, or pass to her your wishes. Is the matter to do with her brother Lord Stark? Or her upcoming departure?"

Stannis squeezed the quill in his hand so hard its shaft nearly broke. The matter with Lady Sansa…he couldn't pass that to Ser Davos, even if he wanted to. And to his chagrin, he realised he _didn't_ want to. He hadn't exchanged a single word with her since that day in this room and whether it was wise or not, he wanted to see her, talk to her again.

Besides, he had a reason.

Stannis had been on the verge of sending the whole Kingsguard to the Wall, when suddenly the remembrance of dark welts against unblemished skin had come to him.

 _She was not treated kindly._

Davos had told him – later - about the bastard using his own guard to punish the girl.

 _She was not treated kindly._

Had it been these rogues hitting her, inflicting those wounds on her flesh?

Stannis had been more disturbed about the matter than he would have liked. What of it? After all, it was not like she would have been killed or irrevocably maimed, not being able to be returned to her kin.

 _And yet._

Calling for her had been an impulse, a sudden desire to get to the bottom of this. It was not too late to order the men to the block if that was what they deserved.

It all depended on what the Stark girl had to say.

"Not about Lord Stark. Just a matter regarding the usurper's rule in which Lady Sansa may be of service," Stannis said with a tone of finality.

Yet Ser Davos didn't give up - which was rare - but rose from his own desk and walked to Stannis's. Ostensibly it was to deliver a wad of documents, but Stannis could see from his face that there was more to it.

"She is a very fine young lady, Lady Sansa. And she has suffered much. She must be keen to get back to her kin."

"I have no doubt she is," Stannis muttered, returning back to his orders and ignoring Davos's extended hand, then hearing a thump of parchments landing on his desk.

"Lord Robb must be planning to betroth her soon. He needs allies whichever action he decides to take, and the eldest daughter of House Stark is a fine prize."

"I am well aware of that, Ser Davos." Stannis wondered where his Hand was going with this.

"She will leave King's Landing soon, undoubtedly as soon as Lord Robb's response reaches us. After you gave your word, there is nothing to keep her here."

Stannis sighed. "I know all those things, and yet you choose to educate me about them. Why, pray tell?"

He lifted his head to look at his Hand - his closest friend, if the word 'friend' had been in his vocabulary – and met soft brown eyes that were studying him intently. There was no judgment in them, nor disappointment.

 _Does he know?_

Shame of his condition flooded Stannis – but at the same time so did a strong need for denial.

"Lady Sansa's future comings and goings are not my concern and neither are they yours. Yet as long as she is a guest in my court, if I need her input where I see fit, I expect to get it."

"Of course, Your Grace," Davos murmured, bowed his head slightly and acknowledging his defeat went back to his desk.

* * *

Once again Lady Sansa entered his room, head held high. The apprehension Stannis had perceived in her the first time had receded, even the certain wariness he had shown the second time was gone. He looked settled, content even.

For a fleeting moment Sannis envied her.

"Your Grace."

Another deep curtsey, which was totally appropriate considering there were other people in the room; two scribes, one guard, a servant boy and the ever-present Ser Davos.

"Lady Sansa. I hope you have been well?"

"Yes, Your Grace. I have been well looked after and my constitution is much improved."

Did it mean that her wounds were healing well? Stannis thought so but didn't dare to ask.

"Very well. I trust my orders regarding you have been followed through faithfully, or is there anything else that needs attending?" Stannis had returned to his writing and was talking to the parchment under his hand, pretending to be busy.

Never had he taken such a good care about the way how his letters curved and his dots lined up in that half a sentence he had managed to write since the girl had entered the room.

"I have a lock on my door, two new dresses and the most helpful ladies maid. There is nothing more I need before I leave for home."

Stannis bristled at the mention of the lock, the implication making heat suffuse his neck. He also didn't miss the reference to her departure, many times promised and not yet delivered, but chose to ignore it for now. He raised his head and considered her coolly.

"There is a reason I requested for your presence today. I have to decide what to do with the surviving members of the young bastard's Kingsguard, and I think you may be able to help me in that."

 _That._ Sansa Stark turned to ice, her posture rigid.

Her instantly changed demeanour made Stannis conclude that the subject matter might be one she would feel more comfortable talking about in private. A sharp command saw everyone leaving the room, Ser Davos lingering behind the others and throwing a last searching look behind his shoulder before pulling the doors shut behind him.

"You can speak freely now. I will ask and I want you to answer me truthfully; did these men hurt you?"

A quick glance, then she looked down.

"Well, did they?" Stannis drummed his fingers against the old grain of the table and waited.

"They served their king as they were ordered," she replied stiffly.

"That is not an excuse for a man to disavow his knightly vows. I want to know what they did to you, Lady Sansa."

Still no answer, she studying the floor as it was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. Stannis's frustration grew and he stood up, pushing the heavy chair behind him as he did. A few long strides around the table and he stood beside her, towering over her form.

Stannis was used to being taller than most of his peers and certainly taller than any woman he had met, and usually, it worked to his advantage. This time, however, the sight of her next to him, so refined and delicate even if tall for a girl, made him feel cumbersome and gangly.

It was the most unusual feeling for him.

Shaking his head he spoke in a low voice, leaning slightly towards her.

"Somebody did _this_ to you." Stannis hovered his hand at her back before drawing a soft line across it, where he remembered seeing the scars. It was a much too intimate gesture, he knew, but somehow it felt easier to convey his question physically rather than to speak it out aloud.

He felt her stiffen, then shiver as his hand drew across her dress. She took a deep breath but stayed silent.

"I have these men in my dungeons and it is my word alone that keeps them alive or sends them to their deaths. If any of them is responsible for _this_ ," again Stannis pressed his palm gently at the small of her back, feeling the warmth underneath the fabric, "I make sure they will be punished."

The girl stared ahead of her, not shifting away.

"Meryn Trant?" Stannis said simply, a slight tilt at the end of the name indicating that it was intended as a question.

The girl nodded.

"Osmund Kettleback?"

Another nod.

"Balon Swann?"

A nod.

"Sandor Clegane?"

She turned her head towards him.

"No, not him."

Stannis startled. He had taken it granted that the most vicious of Joffrey's men, his dog, would have been the worst culprit.

"He didn't hurt you?"

The girl shook her head. "Never. Joffrey never asked him to – I think he was afraid that he would refuse him if he did. And he saved me from the mob on the day of the riots. When everyone else left me behind, he came back for me - even when he was not commanded to do so."

Still he hadn't let go his hand at her back, but she seemed to have accepted it – and for reasons Stannis would have been hard-pressed to explain to himself, he found it soothing.

The silence prolonged between them, but she didn't seem to mind.

 _Not a chatterbox, this maid._

Eventually, Stannis removed himself from her side and walked to the window. On the centre court he saw a group of soldiers on their way to the city, arms gleaming in the sunlight.

 _Law and order._

Stannis made up his mind. Gallows to the others, Clegane thrown into the black cells for some time. He didn't care about the man one way or the other, but he was a renowned warrior and if he was removed from the influence of the Lannisters, maybe he could be useful to his new rule yet. That Joffrey had not dared to ask him to beat the girl told him something about the man - maybe he was not a completely lost cause.

Then he felt something; a whiff of a floral fragrance, a brush of her skirts. Sansa Stark had come to his side, now both of them staring out of the window.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked softly, her focus on the men now marching out of the gate.

"What I am doing is for the restoration or order. I shall not have it said that I leave criminals unpunished. And hence I am condemning all but Clegane to death. Him I sentence to the cells for a time, and then he can prove himself if he agrees to serve me."

"Would you do the same had it been another…they had harmed?"

The question bordered on insolence and for a moment Stannis felt his ire rising. Then the simplicity and sincerity of it made its way to him. Would he?

For a moment he studied his mind for an answer and found that in all honesty, he couldn't deny the truth. Something in this girl - this woman - made him want to protect her and avenge the harm done to her. Irrational, foolish, impulsive – all the things he despised in men – and yet he couldn't refute it.

"I will do my duty, whatever the circumstances," he, however, answered formally.

 _Why did she ask? Does she know?_

They were standing so close to each other that Stannis felt the warmth emanating from her, inhaled the scent flooding his nostrils and saw a silken strand of her loose curls touching his arm. It was most unnerving but he stood his ground. Then a lithe hand sneaked its way to his wrist, touching it lightly.

"I thank you, Your Grace."

The touch had been feather-light and she had removed her hand at once, and yet the feel of it lingered on his skin for a long time.

"You can go now, my lady. This matter has been concluded," Stannis said, refusing to look at her.

She withdrew silently and from the sounds of her steps he knew that she walked to the door, paused there for a moment, then pressed down the latch and opened it.

Stannis stayed by the window for a long while, his unseeing eyes gazing at the ebb and tide of humanity traversing the courtyard.

* * *

His peace was disturbed by a knock on the door and before his say-so, a breathless man burst through, carrying a small scroll in his hand.

"Your Grace, a raven just arrived from Riverrun. It carries a letter with the signet of House Stark."


	8. The Gift

**Author's Notes:** Only two more chapters planned after this – which probably suggests that the FULL story of these two may not be completed… But a part of it will, an important part, paving way for the future. Once again my defence is going to be "But 'tis just a prompt response, merely a drabble!"

* * *

Stannis read the letter in private, bracing himself for whatever it might contain.

The news was good – and then not.

Lord Robb Stark's tone was courteous and his message clear. He acknowledged that as his own lord father had supported Stannis's right to the crown, eventually costing him his head, it would be only prudent that his son followed his footsteps with his allegiances. He had no quarrel with a Baratheon king, as long as the murderers of Lord Eddard Stark were brought to justice. Hence he intended to forfeit the title of the King in the North and declare for King Stannis. In return, he expected also the same level of self-governance and rights that the North had enjoyed before, plus certain additional trading rights, details to be discussed later.

Robb Stark also informed Stannis about his intention to send Ser Jaime Lannister to the capital as a token of his good will towards his king and liege lord. Stannis stopped at that, impressed by the faith Stark placed on him by promising to return his own hostage without the detailed assurances of the return of his sister.

 _She is not a hostage but a guest,_ he then corrected himself. _Unlike Jaime Lannister._

Further below in the tightly written scroll Stark also stated that he was very much looking forward to seeing his sister again, and would King Stannis mind sending her as expediently as possible to Riverrun where he and their lady mother were waiting.

So.

Those were most certainly good news, _excellent_ news as a matter of fact – and yet Stannis felt deflated.

His mouth drawn to a tight line he walked to the door and invited the men hovering behind it in. They had a lot of work to do.

* * *

Sun was streaming through the window making flecks of dust floating in the air sparkle like hundreds of little gems. The smell of leather and parchment wafted from a wooden crate sitting on Stannis's desk.

He was going through the personal books of the previous royal family, a task he had been putting off for a long time. Now that the realm was starting to be under control Stannis had finally given himself leave to look at them – not that there were that many to begin with. Robert had been no scholar by any stretch of the imagination, and neither had been his queen and her bastards, as far as he knew. Yet there had been enough to warrant the task.

Stannis shifted through the books one by one, brushing the dust away as he did. They were beautiful leather-bound tomes and his fingers lingered appreciatively on the gilded letters of their titles. Most were new and hardly touched - gifts, perhaps? He liked reading and found it most useful as long as the topic was suitable, and only wished he had more time for it.

Anything of interest to himself Stannis put into one pile, mostly about history and the art of war. Anything additional he deemed worthy for Princess Shireen's edification he placed into another, the rest going to the steward of the keep to do as he wished. Yet when he came across a few books of knightly tales and poetry, somewhat light in their content and hence too frivolous for the royal heir, he weighed them in his hand thoughtfully.

He recalled seeing some books in Lady Sansa's rooms during the unfortunate foray he had made into them – every moment of that fateful encounter etched into his mind as clear as it had been yesterday. Did she like to read? Would she enjoy these stories? Finally, thinking the works might provide some joy on her long journey home, Stannis put them aside into yet another pile. He would ask his manservant to take them to her discreetly, not intending to make a big fuss of it.

His task was interrupted by a knock on the door and Stannis groaned internally. Never a moment of rest for the king, it seemed. Resignedly he called for the interrupter to enter, seeing Ser Davos emerge through the door. The matter must be important for him to be thus disturbed, and Stannis prepared himself to hear about a complaint, a concern or a worrying development at some corner of his realm. Yet nothing could have prepared him for what came next.

"Your Grace, Lady Sansa begs an audience with you, if you have a moment."

 _What?_

Stannis was speechless – she had never instigated any of their meetings, had never approached him. Why now?

Nevertheless, regardless of her reasons, _of course_ he was going to see her – so he croaked his acquiescence to the request. While his Hand retreated, Stannis got up and brushed his clothes hastily to wipe away the dust, just in time to see the said lady entering the room.

Her whole demeanour was so changed that it took a brief moment for Stannis to reconcile her with the reserved girl he had seen before. The full smile on her lips, eyes wide and bright, her whole being taken over by some kind of nervous but positive energy. Even her curtsey was brief and bouncing, like a puppy eager to jump.

She had a good reason to be thus changed; she was finally going home.

Ser Davos had escorted her and without waiting for Stannis's signal he withdrew and closed the door behind him. For some reason it irritated Stannis – not only was it somewhat presumptuous but what if he needed his counsel? However, there was nothing to do about it unless he wanted to call him back, which he didn't, so he let it be.

"Lady Sansa."

"Your Grace." She studied his face openly, making Stannis uncomfortable within his own skin.

"What do I owe this visit for? Is there something you wish to ask? Something you need?"

Staring at her Stannis rued that Shireen would miss meeting her altogether, Queen Selyse having written that due to high storms on the sea it might be a few more weeks before they could travel. It was a shame - his daughter could have learned many things from this remarkable young woman.

"No, Your Grace, I have all I need and more. I am leaving tomorrow, as you may know."

She hesitated after the last words and paying closer attention to her Stannis noticed that behind her excitement there was an undercurrent of something else. Uncertainty, nervousness even. Not fear – he certainly hoped she was not afraid of him. _What then?_

Of course Stannis knew she was leaving. He was well aware of every minutia of the preparations for Lady Sansa's journey to the Riverrun, up to the names of men who were escorting her. He had made his mission to know it all.

Besides, Ser Davos was going too. Stannis wanted the matter with the North to be handled expediently and competently, and sending the Hand of the King to negotiate the further terms and to receive Lord Robb's official oath of allegiance would ensure that. Besides, Lady Sansa liked Ser Davos and who better to keep her company on their journey?

"That I do know, and wish you well on your journey. I hope your stay in King's Landing ended with a slightly more pleasant note than it had been before."

They were still standing by the door and Stannis looked around him trying to decide whether he should invite her to sit down or not. Was this going to be a quick visit or a lengthier appointment? He didn't want to seat her across the desk from him – that would be too formal – and his gaze landed on a settee at the back of the room. It was hardly ever used and had piles of books on it, but deciding that to be a better alternative Stannis took brisk action to lift them away.

"Please be seated, Lady Sansa." He searched for an empty space where to unload his burden and settled on the windowsill.

She followed him and sat down, her back straight, her eyes on him.

"It did, Your Grace - all because of you."

Stannis knew he had only done his duty, but the sincerity of her words affected him nonetheless. In a good way.

"Maybe one day we shall see you again in the capital in happier circumstances." Saying that it hit Stannis that he might actually never lay his eyes on her again. Lord Robb may indeed have plans already; would he marry her to the North or seek alliance in the South? Quite irrationally Stannis felt upset by the notion of her in the arms of another man, a man she would call her lord husband.

"I can't tell that for sure, it depends on my brother." Her words echoed his thoughts. Then she patted the seat next to her. "Would you sit down, Your Grace? It is impolite of me to sit while you are standing."

Stannis stared at the space next to her. The settee was not wide by any means, so he would have to sit quite close to her. The thought made him uncomfortable, and yet… After a moment of hovering unsurely on his feet, Stannis followed her suit and settled down. He shifted in his place, leant back at first, then forward, trying to find a good position among the overly soft cushions, finally ending up at the edge of the seat, slightly turned towards Sansa.

She turned likewise and faced him squarely. Stannis noticed the movement on her slender throat as she swallowed before speaking.

"Your Grace, I hope you don't think me too bold, but… I have something I would like to give you."

Stannis raised his eyebrow. Rarely people gave him anything – usually it was the other way around, people expecting him to grant _them_ favours.

Without waiting for his response the girl pulled something out of the pouch hanging from her waist. Whatever it was, it was wrapped in a handkerchief that she took great care to unwrap before removing the object within and handing it to him.

Stannis examined it, turning the thing around in his hands. It was a strip of fabric, roughly two hand-spans long and a width of three fingers. Looking closer he saw that it was finely embroidered, with small silken tassels hanging at its both ends. Even without knowing much about sewing Stannis could see that it was fine craftsmanship.

"What is it?"

"It is a bookmark. You see, you can lay it flat between the pages you have been reading and close the book, and it stays there, neatly." She took it from his hands and straightened it to show how the upper half would rest above the page, the bottom part below it. Doing so her fingers touched his palm and Stannis felt a warm radiating through the touch. His hand twitched involuntarily.

"I know Your Grace reads lots of books and I thought…" Her voice faded away, unsure. Then she sighed and looked straight into his eyes. "I don't have much to give, but I wanted to show my appreciation for your kindness towards me."

Stannis was impressed. Usually when he read he used whatever piece of parchment happened to be close by as a marker of how far he had reached, sometimes leading to confusion when that said piece was needed later. He could immediately see the benefits of such gift.

"I thank you kindly, Lady Sansa. I will use it for sure."

Another stilted silence. Stannis didn't know what else to say, and Sansa seemed relieved after having delivered her gift.

 _A gift._

Stannis couldn't remember the last time somebody had given him a gift. Not to his house, not to his kingship – for R'hllor's sake, there had been enough blatant attempts to curry favours and get into his good graces since the Blackwater, many of them spiced with casks of fine wines and chains of gold. Yet none of those things was meant for _him_ – only for what he represented.

This gift was different.

He studied it again briefly, then glanced under his brow at the girl – woman – who had given it to him. The tension was still there, she now staring at the handkerchief she was still wringing in her hands, eyes downcast. Stannis felt out of his depth, not knowing what to say next. He coughed, and as if woken from a daze Sansa looked up, alarmed.

"My pardons, Your Grace! I have taken too much of your time already – time which I know to be extremely valuable. Please, allow me to take my leave." She jumped up and turned around in a flurry of skirts.

"Not at all, my lady," Stannis muttered, startled by her sudden movement. Then he remembered the books; what a perfect opportunity to take care of the matter himself.

"Lady Sansa, if you would care, there are some books on my desk, the pile on the right. If you find any of them of interest to you, you can have them."

"Oh!" She wiped her hands on her skirts and turned her attention towards the desk. The pile intended for her consisted of only four volumes, but she grabbed them eagerly and examined them one after another. She made small noises of excitement after recognising the name of a well-known Dornish storyteller, which Stannis interpreted meaning that she liked them.

He regretted that he hadn't made them a formal gift. What had possessed him to throw them at her like cheap leavings – as if he hadn't already selected them especially to give to her?

"Your Grace, you are too kind! If you are absolutely sure, I would consider it an honour to take them." Then her face darkened. "But… I am leaving tomorrow. I simply couldn't read all these by then."

"There is no need. I mean for you to take them with you to the North. I put them aside for _you_ , Lady Sansa."

The colour creeping up her cheeks was very becoming, Stannis noticed. And extremely distracting.

"I… I thank you, Your Grace. Truly." It appeared as if she wanted to say something more but then thought the better of it.

Stannis made his decision. It was time to make an end to this.

"As you said, my lady, the king's time is not his own. Tomorrow will be a busy day for me as well so I will take my leave of you now." He walked to the door in a few strides and opened it. "I wish you good journey and joy of your family."

Taking his meaning Sansa Stark dropped to another deep curtsey, muttered one more 'Your Grace' and left with the books tucked under her arm.

Staring at her retreating back Stannis knew he might never see her again - and the thought pained him more than he would have cared.

* * *

It was only later in his bedchamber when Stannis scrutinised that exquisite gift further that he saw all the motifs she had embroidered into it; the Baratheon stag, of course, in a prominent place at the front. Then an image of a castle he interpreted to be the Red Keep, followed by a ship with full sails, all in the finest stitch made with a steady hand. He turned it around and on its back, scenes of domesticity took over; trays full of vegetables and bread, a big hall set with long tables - and a chamber with a bathtub.

Seeing that Stannis had to do a double-take – surely not? He squinted and took the piece closer to the roaring fire for more light.

No, there was no mistake. It _was_ a bathtub, a round wooden one, just like on that ill-fated day. The stitches made with bright blue were likely meant to represent water, but despite his searching eyes, Stannis couldn't see anyone in the tub. Of course not, that would have been too much.

And yet… that she had deliberately included a hint to that infamous event in her gift to him, when all this time Stannis had thought her to have been totally horrified by it… Stannis clasped the bookmark hard in his hand, frowning over what it could mean. Perhaps, just perhaps she had forgiven him for true?

Stannis brushed the brightly coloured and smooth surface with his forefinger. _Women._ He could never, ever understand them. Not in a million years.


	9. The Loofah

**Author's Notes:** My, this is getting harder towards the end! Writing always does, when approaching the closure of the story… Thanks for bearing with me patiently!

As you can see, she is gone… is this the end of it? Will Stannis merely console himself in his loneliness and that's all there is? All will be revealed in the next and final chapter!

* * *

Stannis didn't see Sansa Stark again before her departure, being too busy running the affairs of the state.

Or at least pretending to.

If he had been truly honest with himself, he would have had to admit that he simply didn't want to witness her departure, knowing that he might never see her again. She was leaving, there was nothing to be done about it - that was all Stannis needed to know.

Ser Harmon told him later that the party had left in good order with a promise of a fair weather on their way. Ser Davos had been in a 'good mood' and Lady Sansa had been 'radiant', a detail which Stannis could have lived without. He tried not to imagine her; face flushed of excitement, keen to depart the court, eager to leave everything in King's Landing behind her. Including its king.

The next few days and evenings in the Red Keep were a sombre affair, Stannis's eyes inexorably drawn to the table where Lady Sansa used to sit during the meals. Part of him was most decidedly relieved to see her gone, hoping that her absence would finally free him from the strange intoxication that had taken over him. For the love of R'hllor, she was just a _girl_ \- and he the King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, and a husband as well! He had suffered from this nonsense long enough and it was time to move on.

Yet what Stannis found most curious was that although he hadn't even spent that much time in Lady Sansa's company – he could count with his fingers the occasions when he had spoken to her – her absence seemed to have left a gaping hole in his life. No more did he scan a group of maidens for an auburn head, no more did his steps hasten on his way to the dining hall.

Stannis took it in his stride, however, having learned a long time ago that sometimes the only cure for a mental disposition was to let time go by. _This, too, shall pass,_ he told himself and turned his attention fully back to his many duties.

And many there were, especially in the absence of his trusted Hand. The word sent to Citadel regarding a new Grand Maester had resulted in a congregation of grey-bearded men arriving in King's Landing, awaiting a meeting at the King's pleasure. Something had to be done to the Ironborn who pillaged openly in the east coast. The Iron Bank of Braavos needed to be placated for the money the crown owed them.

If spending time with a group of old men, planning a punitive mission against squids and counting cold figures in his head couldn't flush away the last vestiges of a foolish infatuation, he didn't know what would.

And so Stannis set to his tasks with grim determination.

* * *

At the end of the week, Stannis received another message from Lord Robb Stark. Curious about what could make him write again so soon, he didn't wait to read it alone but broke the seal and rolled it open then and there, in the middle of the muddy castle yard where the young maester's apprentice had found him.

Stark's message was once again concise and to the point. Recognising what a disposition it must be for the crown to send the Hand of the King himself to treat with him, he proposed to set on the road immediately to meet with the party halfway. From wherever the two companies would meet, Lady Sansa would be escorted to Riverrun by the men of Winterfell, while Lord Robb and a few of his council members would join Ser Davos and his party back to King's Landing.

 _…time on the road to discuss reuniting the kingdoms and its terms…bend the knee in person…witness justice being done for the brazen murderers of Lord Eddard Stark…_

Stannis found himself nodding along as he read the words. Robb Stark seemed the kind of young man who preferred to take matters into his own hands whenever possible, the fact that he had raised his banners and marched that far to the South in his tender age proving that. All of a sudden Stannis felt a flash of sympathy for the youth he had never met, who had had to grow up too quickly in the midst of war – just like he himself had.

The proposal itself was sound and would, as a matter of fact, make his life easier. Ser Davos would be back sooner, the trade negotiations would have already been started, Stannis could take the measure of his new Warden of the North himself – yes, it all made sense.

For a moment he wondered whether the referral to justice meant that the Young Wolf himself wanted to swing the sword, should the pretender be sentenced to death.

The fake king and his mother had been kept under a strict detention, waiting for a trial to determine her culpability to the murder of King Robert, and his to usurping the throne under false premises. Stannis was sure of the former – he _knew_ she had done it, and it was only a matter of time before he could prove it. The latter was likewise firmly established, even the pretence of the boy's ignorance of his true origin having crumbled when Stannis had made his mother's infidelity and incest publicly known.

* * *

Despite Stannis throwing himself into his work, day and night, certain hollowness followed him wherever he went. He tried to escape it by physical activity, riding to examine the outskirts of King's Landing and sailing up the Blackwater Rush, or by retreating into his rooms early, there contemplating all matters between the earth and sky while nursing a cup of lemon water until late into the small hours.

One such evening, when he was retreating early to his rooms for the night, Stannis found himself in front of a familiar door. He had not been there since _that_ day and had had no intention to do so again, but since his feet had somehow taken him there he shrugged his shoulders and stepped in. Lady Sansa was not going to be there, so what was the harm?

The room was dark but the torch he had taken from the wall sconce illuminated it well enough. At first look, it appeared the same as before, except for the absence of any personal items. Stannis nodded at the size of the room and the large window giving into one of the small inner yards. Maybe he would assign this room as Princess Shireen's study?

He walked the perimeters of the room and sensed the emptiness left behind when the living, breathing person occupying it had left. A small flash of light reflected from something on the floor and he stopped and picked up the shiny thing. It was a thimble made of metal, copper or some such; just a little thing not of great value, probably dropped behind the trunk that had sat in the corner where he found it. Stannis rotated it in his fingers, the heat of his fingers warming the thing.

I had been _hers_ – so without further hesitation, he dropped it in his pocket.

He also walked through the curtains to the side room, which was equally bare with only a large earthenware jug and basin standing on the side table. The bathtub was not there – of course, being the kind that was moved from room to room as needed. Curiously he opened the cupboard below the table and there, shining dully in the firelight, he saw the object that had incited his imagination over many quiet nights; the yellow scrub she had used to wash herself. The loofah.

Gingerly Stannis extended his hand into the cupboard and touched it; it was dry and hard. He pulled it out, then noticed a bar of soap next to it on a small wooden saucer.

Stannis could never fathom why he did what he did, but the next moment he grabbed both items and tucked them inside his doublet. He left the room as quietly as he had entered – albeit thankfully considerably less agitated than the last time.

* * *

The next evening Stannis called for a bath in his rooms. Not an unusual act by itself, he having always maintained that cleanliness was a duty for those who could afford it and a courtesy towards everybody else. What was unusual, though, was that he planned to take his time with it.

The servants rolled the tub into his room and carried a bucket after bucket of piping hot water, splashing it all over the tiles before pouring it in. When it was half full his manservant turned a questioning eye towards Stannis, but he gestured them to continue.

He didn't want to just dip himself in and out like he usually did, satisfied with the minimum amount of water – no, he wanted to try something new. Eventually, the water level was to his liking and he commanded the servants out.

Stannis undressed slowly, staring at the filled tub. It was very ordinary, just like the one Lady Sansa had bathed in. He observed thin wisps of steam rising from its surface, and thick mist condensing on the surface of the worn planks.

Never had such a mundane sight held so much meaning to him.

The thought that the tub _could_ possibly be the very same made the blood run faster in his veins, although he knew it to be unlikely. The court had at least half a dozen of them, circulated from room to room.

Pulling his last garment, a white undershirt, over his head, Stannis dropped it on the floor and glanced down at his body all the way down to his feet. It was thin and sinewy, all lean muscle and sharp bones, dark wiry hair spreading from chest to groin and then into his legs as a particularly uneven and patchy carpet. An old scar, a ragged line of white tissue, ran from the top of his thigh down to his knee – a tip of a lance had made it during one of his first full cavalry attacks.

There were others, too. An angry welt where a burning arrow had hit him in the hip. A star-shaped mark where an ordinary arrow had penetrated his calf – luckily it had been only a flesh would, not hitting the bone.

Seeing those signs of past injuries reminded him of the scars he had seen on _her_ back – had they been fully healed by now? Would they fade into nothingness as years went by, not even a line of hairless progression being left to indicate the past hurts?

On him, they didn't make any difference and were almost to be expected in a soldier. Stannis had no silly notions about his looks, never having sacrificed a single thought to the whole concept, but his body had always done all he had asked of it and had never let him down – except now.

Lately – and Stannis knew exactly the day when things had changed, that being the day when he had walked into the room with an auburn-haired girl in the bath - both his mind and his body had started play tricks on him, tricks he didn't particularly appreciate but couldn't get rid of nonetheless. It had been like when he had been but a boy, new to the ways of the world and curious about feminine mysteries just like any young man is wont to.

Growing up he had despised Robert and his boasting about bedding servant girls and had sworn never to do that. Yet there had been one… a seamstress in his mother's service, not a particularly comely woman with eyes too close and mouth too wide. Nonetheless, she had been the first woman whose curves had held young Stannis's attention and of whom he had dreamt of and woken to an aching cock and soiled bedding. He had never approached her – of course not – but Stannis could still remember the excitement and hot blood pooling in his belly, and longing for…what? Something beautiful and yet raw and animalistic, something that made his body thrum and explode in the eruption of senses.

And then the war had come and he had become a man and he had had no more time for such foolishness. His marriage – it had been clear from the start that it had been a duty to both of them and nothing more. Stannis could still remember the awkwardness of the nights with his new bride. Yes, Selyse had always been an obedient wife who had never refused him but had unquestioningly lifted her nightgown up to her waist and opened her legs. Those tightly shut eyes, those deep grooves on her forehead – neither of them pretended there to be anything more than a desperate attempt to get her with a child, the more desperate the more time went by and the more miscarriages she had.

Stannis walked to the tub and climbed into it, slowly, carefully. First one leg, then another, warm water taking them into its embrace. It was not exactly scolding hot anymore, but he winced when he lowered himself fully down. Water reached up to his neck and if he was not careful it would slosh over the edge.

Yes, he had forgotten those bodily needs and had not been bothered by the lack of their fulfilment. There had been a few others – very few, considering the norms of times and his exalted position. The camp-follower he had rescued from a group of battle-lust men and who had followed him and crept into his cot, and being half-asleep, half-awake, he had succumbed. A whore sent to his tent by a presumptuous lord who thought to curry his favour by the act. A very good whore, a consummate professional, who had got him exactly where she had wanted before Stannis had been able to raise his guard. And a few more – but not many, maybe just four or five in all his years. Robert would have laughed at that pitiful record. But he was _not_ Robert, nor had ever aspired to be.

Stannis wasn't particularly bothered by his history. Annoyed, if anything, by his lack of strength to avoid the gaudy incidents, but no deep-seated regrets.

He splashed water into his face and poured it over his head using a large wooden ladle. Normally at this stage he would have already grabbed a soap and lathered himself with a washing rag, splashed more water on him and gotten up and be done with it.

 _Not today._

Stannis relaxed, rested his head against the side and closed his eyes, the tub being big enough for him to sit comfortably with knees bent. And then he did what he had planned to do since the previous day; he allowed his defences to crumble down, lowered his barricades, let go of his self-control. He opened his mind and let _her_ in.

That first time; her bare back and the line of those delicate backbones. Wet hair curled around her shoulders. The curve of her breast. The small undulations of her flesh just under it. The downy hair covering her armpits, so unlike the wiry strands of his own. And later; the cleavage of that too small dress. Her smile, the sway of her hips as she walked through the Great Hall.

Her scent.

Stannis relived every single moment he had spent in Sansa Stark's company, this time giving himself a permission to take her in, to savour each memory, to forget how wrong it was.

His cock twitched and for once he didn't do a damn thing to try to restrain it or refuse the sensation. Rather, he slid his hand across the plane of his stomach and tugged it tentatively, once, twice, rubbing against the hardness. It felt good.

 _No, not yet._

Stannis sighed and opened his eyes, then reached for the side stool for the loofah. He knew it had to be submerged in water to make it pliable, which he did. Then he used the soap he had taken to lather it, marvelling the roughness of its surface. The foam smelled of herbs, of greenness, of _her_. Stannis proceeded to scrub the thing cautiously against his arm and was pleasantly surprised be the sensation. It felt rougher than a rag but softer than a brush.

And…this very same object had touched Lady Sansa's skin, that he knew for certain.

The thought made his cock jerk again and this time refusing its call didn't make Stannis frustrated but instead rather smug. _Time for that will come._

Stannis couldn't help his methodical nature and proceeded to scrub himself thoroughly limb by limb until his skin bristled red. He stood up to wash his legs, reasoning that soap wouldn't do much good under water. He washed his private parts as well, sliding a soapy hand between his legs and closing his eyes once more in the face of anticipation that had already started to build inside him.

 _Not yet. Soon._

Once Stannis had done himself over he curled on his side and pressed his knees against his chest. Sinking under gave him an odd feeling of weightlessness – and being surrounded by warm water and floating in it, he felt completely removed from the world and its worries. There was nothing else, just he floating in nothingness – no worries, no pressures, nothing but soothing caress of warm water.

 _This must be why she did it,_ crossed through Stannis's mind, and for the first time, he thought he understood a bit of the girl, of Sansa Stark. With that came emotion he hadn't felt often. Regret. Wishful thinking. _If only…_

He burst up to the surface gasping his breath. _No use. This is all you have and it is more than you deserve or need._

After that it was fast; he climbed out of the bath, towelled himself vigorously and made his way to his bed. His own bed, clear of any sordid memories bar the ones he had created himself – and no matter how harshly he looked upon his actions Stannis couldn't in good conscience to deny them.

It was shameful for a wedded man and a king to lust after a girl almost twenty years his junior, a noble maid who was sister to the lord of his largest kingdom. Yet she was gone now and nobody – _nobody_ – would know of Stannis Baratheon's shame – and if he forgave himself, so what of it?

So he burrowed himself between the sheets, and surrounded by the smell of green herbs and memories of the northern girl Stannis finally succumbed.

He was inexperienced in the acts most men took for granted, especially soldiers in long and lonely campaigns, and his grip was initially uncertain, but gradually his own body told him what he needed to do and he became bolder. Shamelessly, he let his thoughts fly to her and allowed his mind to imagine sensual scenarios of her, in here, with him… _Just this one time._ Now that she was safely gone.

If it was in the realm or forbidden earthly pleasures Stannis Baratheon spent that evening and that night, he was honest enough to admit his indignity to himself. And carry the burden of pleasure and pain it caused.

* * *

Since then, although initially raising eyebrows of some who knew him, Stannis insisted on a bath with a full tub of luxuriously hot water at least once a week. It became a common occurrence to see servants carrying buckets back and forth, and instead of the tub being brought to him when needed, it found it's permanent residence in the king's rooms.

His thoughts about _one time only_ also faded into oblivion, and once again justifying to himself that there was no harm in it as long as nobody knew, and the girl was not at the court anymore to suffer from his lustful thoughts, Stannis didn't care to fight against his desires anymore.

 _This is nought but a passing phase,_ he thought, planning to ride it out like a fleeting sickness. As some kind of illness it must be, disturbance of mind.

However, it was not all about his newfound passions either – Stannis also found he actually liked the clarity of thought that relaxing in a bath gave him. And the loofah was a very practical implement – never had he felt so clean and refreshed as when he stepped out of the bath these days.

And at the same time, never had he felt dirtier.


	10. Message

**Author's Notes:** Oh well, I should have known… There was no way I could squeeze in all I wanted to this last chapter, so this story will be stretched to one more. Hmmm.

As for the twist in the story, I am sure NOBODY saw it coming – it is the most MOST UNEXPECTED and NOVEL! *grins* Apologies for my utter predictability…

As always, any comments or views are warmly welcomed should you feel so inclined!

* * *

 _It is with most profound regret that I have to inform Your Grace about the unfortunate and tragic demise of Her Grace the Queen Selyse, the ship carrying her being overtaken by an unexpected storm on rough seas._

Stannis stared at the words on the parchment, then hurried through the remaining lines desperately seeking mention of Shireen.

 _Princess Shireen was rescued as were most of the crew due to a lucky chance of a fishing boat arriving at the site of mishap only a few hours later. Alas, Her Grace the Queen had already gone down, as had her companion Lady Melisandre. It is suspected that they were trapped inside their cabin and lost when the hull of the ship sank._

Stannis read the lines again and again, the message they contained not changing in any of the readings. Ser Harmon, who had brought in the message carried by a rider from Duskendale, stood motionless, the rider panting laboriously behind him. It had been obvious that the news was of great importance from the grim urgency it had been delivered.

Stannis's first thought was of Ser Davos, how he should have been there to share the news with. Then he felt ashamed of the fact that his overwhelming feeling was relief upon learning of Shireen's survival. He should be devastated about the fate of his lady wife, and alarmed by the notion of having lost Lady Melisandre's guidance. How would he now know the path R'hllor intended for him?

And yet the overwhelming sensation descending upon him was numbness.

Mechanically Stannis put the letter down, somehow found the right words for Ser Harmon and the messenger, then retired to his chambers. It was not yet even twilight but he gave orders to his servant to bring his meals into his rooms this evening. Lord Varys and the rest of the Small Council were undoubtedly informed about the events this very same time if not before - they would need to meet and decide how to best to handle the aftermath. Shireen was on her way to King's Landing, the letter had said, so her rooms had to be prepared…

For a moment Stannis was at loss. What could he say to a daughter who had just lost her mother, one of the few people permanent in her life? Brushing that aside – he had to ask the steward to find a reliable woman, a governess of some sort for her…

So many things to do. So few emotions.

* * *

Stannis's counsellors had advised him about the necessity of a grand spectacle upon his ascent to the Iron Throne. People of King's Landing needed to see their king, needed to be given assurances of continuation of governance, they had said.

He had brushed them aside – such follies were wholly unnecessary and costly, and people of King's Landing and whole Westeros would see soon enough the governance in action in the form of peace, trade, law and order. Hence his coronation had been a subdued affair with only high lords and the members of his court present. Yet he had acquiesced to the plan that when Queen Selyse arrived in the capital, she would be crowned in a public ceremony at the stairs of the Great Sept of Baelor the Blessed.

None of that was going to happen now.

There had to be a public ceremony to acknowledge the Queen's passing nonetheless. Not that anyone in the capital would miss her – not many people had even known her. A small affair, just with the court presiding.

And then…what next?

Stannis was not a fool; he knew exactly what next. None of the members of his council had voiced the thought out loud as yet, but it was there just the same; he had to marry again. And this time, with luck, there would be more children. Maybe a son. Maybe more than one. A bloodline of House Baratheon strong again.

It was his duty.

* * *

By the time the news of the accident had reached him Stannis had found new kind of austerity and peace of mind. Unlike what he had expected, his thoughts of Sansa Stark had not passed – if anything, they had taken root and now nestled comfortably in the core of his being.

His baths and lust-filled dreams continued but rather than feeling ashamed, he had learned to draw succour of them. There were not many things that provided him solace from the trials and tribulations of governing, but this was one of them - his secret imaginary life with the Northern girl, with hair of auburn and bearing of a queen.

Yes, Stannis had accepted his dishonour and learned to live with it – but now the new situation disturbed the carefully constructed balance.

The king needed a bride.

Stannis was well aware of the facts. Lady Sansa was in every respect totally appropriate consideration for the role; high-born and educated from a young age to become a mistress of a noble household, even the highest in the realm. To be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms had been her future once already. She was also young and healthy and from a fecund stock. Her parents had borne five healthy children together, and although there was a slight concern about her mother's family – six babes of whom only three had survived the trials of childhood, one dying in childbirth and taking his mother with him, her father had had three healthy siblings. No, there could be no doubt that the signs of Sansa Stark being able to conceive and carry sons and daughters to the end were more than promising.

But there was a problem.

Would she want him?

* * *

It was late in the day and Stannis was tired. A lengthy quarrel between traders from Pentos and those from Dorne had been dragging on and on, way too long to his liking, and had wrecked his carefully planned schedule for a day. He had intended to ride out of the city to the shipbuilding yards to check on the progress of his new ships – but instead he had been cooped up inside a stuffy chamber the whole day.

He stood up briskly, waved his hand for his scribes to continue with their work, and escaped out to the battlements of the Red Keep. There was a certain corner where he could stand and look out to the sea, and the sight of waves and endless skies had always soothed his mind when it was troubled.

The place was near deserted, as Stannis had known it would be, with only a lonely guard walking on his rounds some distance away. He wrapped his cloak tighter around him, the cool wind threatening to chill his bones. Yet the cold and the damp mist rising from the sea cleared his head – which was exactly what he needed in front of his unexpected dilemma.

The whole concept of Stannis being concerned with the wants of Sansa Stark was ridiculous. Noble maidens had no say in their marriages, their parents - or in this case, a brother – making such important decisions on their behalf. It was customary to keep the maiden appraised of the situation, but her unwavering obedience was expected.

Stannis knew that if he approached the topic with Lord Robb, the outcome was likely to be in his favour. If the Young Wolf sought alliances in the South there were none higher than one with the crowned king. And again, this was what her parents had planned for Lady Sansa, and the groom being a different king than originally intended should make no difference. At least this time the king was a rightful one, a true Baratheon.

And yet… Stannis remembered Lady Sansa's wary looks and impassive expressions, her features drawn into an impenetrable mask of courtesy. And then her happiness, her shy smiles, her joy when she knew she was finally leaving the court. Should he force her back, would the sullen spirit take her over once again?

 _And what of it?_ a voice in Stannis's head taunted him.

Stannis entertained no grand notions of himself. He knew he was considered to be dour, not a man for easy courtesies and too occupied with his work and duties. If he was not as old as to be considered a decrepit old man, for a maid of Sansa's age he must seem ancient nonetheless. He didn't care about social graces, food or drink or grand entertainment, didn't like hunting or riding for its own sake, and couldn't have cited a poem or pranced around the dance floor if his life dependent on it.

He didn't have anything to offer to a young woman to make her care about him for his own sake. Even his kingship was unlikely to advance his case, Sansa Stark having witnessed with her own eyes how far from the promise of a life in a glittering court the harsh reality could be. Her house was wealthy, and whoever she would marry, would be of exalted position. No, even his position as the king would not sway her, he knew.

 _So what?_ the small voice continued to scoff inside his head.

Stannis took a deep breath and shuddered. The wind was picking up and the sound of flapping Baratheon banners flying in the breeze was like a crack of a whip. _Flap. Flap. Flap._

He could have her. He could have her for true – not only an imaginary vision tormenting and blessing his lonely nights. He could take her to his bed and nobody could say or do a thing. He could run his hand along her curves, brush his fingers against her soft skin.

 _Furrowed brow, tightly shut eyes._ _Tight-lipped mouth drawn into a thin line._

Those unmistakable small signs of endurance and revulsion Selyse probably hadn't known herself she had given out during their coupling – would he see her doing the same? If he forced her against her own true will, would he destroy the only beautiful dream he had had for a long time – his only true desire?

The tingling of his blood rising when Stannis had thought of having the girl in his bed died down and was replaced with disgust.

Stannis stared across the ocean of frothy waves with unseeing eyes.

No.

He couldn't – he _wouldn't_ – do that.

He would rather marry another, maybe that Martell girl, Arianne or whatever was her name, to bind Dorne closer to the crown after all that unpleasantness with Elia Martell. Or even Renly's widow, Margaery, to secure the wealth of Tyrells behind him. Anyone, whose moods and preferences would not matter to him that much, and whose disappointment he could bear better.

Stannis made up his mind; he needed to ask her directly.

Relieved that finally he had a plan of action, wherever it would lead him, he turned and walked away so suddenly that he almost collided with the guard who was just crossing the walkway, and who now halted abruptly, muttering his apologies while trying to keep a hold of his lance that he had nearly dropped.

Stannis didn't notice any of that, so focussed he was on getting back to his rooms. He had a letter to write.

* * *

Stannis had all he needed in front of him; a freshly sharpened quill, a pot of ink, several sheets of pristine parchment cut into small squares to be able to be sent by a raven. He was alone, having sent everyone else hastily away. Now all he needed was words.

He took the quill, dipped it in ink and bent his head to the task.

 _Lady Sansa,_

 _Undoubtedly the sad news has reached you too through the dispatches I have sent to Ser Davos. Yet I can't wallow in my personal sorrow, but I have to think ahead to the future._

 _The realm needs a queen, and I need a wife. In this search you are the first person in my mind, someone who is foremost suitable to the position, and hence I would like to ask…_

Stannis stopped, scanned what he had written, and creased his brow. Somehow it sounded…too impersonal. He started again.

 _Lady Sansa,_

 _Undoubtedly the sad news has reached you too through the dispatches I have sent to Ser Davos. Yet the king's concerns are larger than his own personal sorrows, and I have to think of the future._

 _In my search for a wife I consider you as my first choice, your character and nature being most suited to the position as well as pleasing to me personally. Yet before I shall talk to your lord brother, I wish to learn what is your own position regarding this matter._

Stannis sighed. Was he really asking her opinion as about a matter of trifling curiosity, or was he asking her for her hand?

Over the next little while he tried several different approaches, scribbling words to sheets of used parchment just to see how they looked like when read – then furiously crossing them over when they failed to pass the muster.

 _It is you and you alone I seek to have as my bride, but before raising the matter with your lord brother, I wish to know your mind._

 _I wish to ask you if you should consider me as your lord husband out of your own free will, as if you do not, I assure I shall not seek your hand from your lord brother._

 _If you do not wish this, I assure you that I will bear you no grudge and no harm will come of it._

 _Would you be able to consider me as your lord husband?_

Paragraph after a paragraph, Stannis tried to put his plea on paper– his desire to hear that should she marry him, it would not be because of obedience and duty alone, but also because she would not find him revolting as a man. He never went as far as thinking that she could actually _love_ him – how could she! – but he hoped she could find it in her heart to care enough to enter their union with an open mind and with no regrets. That was all he was after.

Eventually Stannis abandoned all attempts for a lyrical content and settled for prosaic, hoping that she would see beyond the words to his true meaning.

 _Lady Sansa,_

 _I trust I don't have to explain to you the situation I find myself in, you being sufficiently knowledgeable about the matters of the state and the realities of the court. The realm needs a queen and I need a wife, and there is only one person I would consider, that being your own person. Yet I wish not to press my suit if that is unwanted, no matter what political expediencies or your family's thoughts about the matter might be._

 _Hence I wish to ask you directly; would this notion be agreeable to you? If it is, I shall speak to your lord brother as soon as he arrives in the capital, However, let me assure you that I am not in a hurry and you are most welcome to visit your family and spend time in the North first if that is your wish._

 _If, however, it is not, I shall abandon this pursuit and will turn down any suggestions to that direction. I assure you that your decision will have no bearing towards my relationship with your house, and your good name will not be besmirched by me or mine._

Stannis had decided to send the message securely sealed inside another missive to his Hand, to be handed to Lady Sansa's hand by Ser Davos himself. He knew he could trust him implicitly, but now he was wondering how he would be able to get her message back to him. Maybe her kin paid attention to her correspondences? Would it be odd if she was to write to the king directly, without the knowledge or involvement of her brother?

Stannis was also chagrined to be found out asking a mere girl's permission, and even more fraught should the answer be a refusal. Letters were mislaid every now and then and could find their way into wrong hands. The humiliation of it…

He pondered over the problem for a long while before coming up with a solution. To the end of his letter he wrote:

 _Regarding the means of you communicating to me your wishes in this matter, I ask you to give a small token of yours to Ser Davos, who will bring it back to me. Any token will do, a piece of cloth, a trifle trinket, a branch of a dried plant – anything. Should your answer be yes, include something of yellow in that token, even the slightest hint. If I can find nothing of that colour in it, I shall know that you received these words but that you can't see living your life by my side. If so, I shall understand and abide by it, and wish you the very best._

He finished the letter with a flourish, starting with the usual litany of _Stannis of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals… -_ but stopping himself at the first word and signing his letter simply with _Stannis._

Rubbing his wrist that had started to cramp after the intense session Stannis stared down at the innocent looking folded piece of parchment.

His happiness on the line, such a deceiving little thing.

* * *

Then it was back to work for the king, trying to forget the high stakes of his gamble and ignore any attempts to calculate how soon he could expect the company back and what would be her answer. By Stannis's reckoning the two parties should meet somewhere near Harrenhall, where he had sent his message to be carried to his Hand by a fast rider. Could he perhaps expect a message from there, even the token, should it be so light and small as to be able to be carried by a raven?

Ser Davos had written a few times, official dispatches as well as more private notes to his king, but none indicating that the parties would have met already.

Days dragged on in the monotony of drudgery, the only relief being the arrival of Princess Shireen. She was even more serious as before, and the tragedy of both his daughter and himself witnessing a loss of their parent to the sea was not lost on Stannis. As much as he hated to reminisce about his own heartbreak, one evening he sat down in Shireen's rooms and told her all about that dreadful day on the Shipbreaker Bay and his anguish of seeing the ship carrying his parents being smashed against the rocks.

Words didn't come easily to him, but he got them out nonetheless and was rewarded by a squeeze of her daughter's hand of his own – how it had sneaked there, Stannis didn't know, but he took it as a positive sign.

As could have been expected, hardly the pompous ceremony to farewell Queen Selyse had ended when the members of the Small Council started to debate the merits or lack thereof of various eligible maidens across the realm. Everybody had their favourites; Ser Axell Florent wanted to see Talla Tarly, daughter of Lord Randyll, on the throne, the detail that she was a relative of his conveniently not mentioned; Lord Varys was adamant that the Dornish matter required Stannis to marry the daughter of Prince of Dorne, Arianne Martell; Lord Monford favoured the union with Tyrells; and the new Grand Maester Dagan dared to even suggest Janei Lannister, the daughter of Kevan Lannister, in an attempt to breach the drift between the crown and House Lannister.

Sansa Stark's name was brought up a few times, but Stannis scoffed at all suggestions and refused to entertain any deeper discussions of the matter, stating a need to wait for the return of the Hand of the King before further talks.

Days went by and all Stannis could do was to endure. And wait


	11. Yellow

**Author's Notes:** Yes, yellow indeed. Very yellow. And how does that make Stannis feel?

So here we are, a little prompt turning into a 20,000 word piece – time to put this baby in bed… Thank you a million for everyone who has joined this journey and made my days (and evenings and nights and mornings) with your lovely comments and encouragement into my first Stannis x Sansa fic. Mwuah!

* * *

Stannis was observing the parade of City Watch when the word came. He didn't inspect the troops often, that being the task of their leaders, but he knew that every now and then being scrutinised by the highest power in the realm did good for any discipline of arms – even if just guards watching over peace in the capital.

The messenger reached him at the end of the line which Stannis had walked up and down, nodding approvingly when seeing an exemplary representative of the Watch and furrowing his brow in front of a haphazard looking specimen. In a few words the man conveyed him the news that had travelled through many mouths already; that a sight of a group flying both stag and direwolf banners had been spotted just a few days out of the city. The word Stannis had spread around - that if any such sightings were made, he had to be made aware of them immediately - seemed to be bearing fruit.

Two days away, and the message had taken at least a day to reach him through the many intermediates – it meant that the party could be in the capital within a day.

A new burst of energy overtook Stannis and he abandoned his task to walk through the keep, barking a string of commands to those who crossed his path. The keep had to be made ready for visitors with room for people and horses, kitchens alerted, Small Council to be gathered, lords called to attendance, the court made to stand attention…

Stannis returned to his study head full of odd kind of nervous excitement and threw his cloak carelessly on the settee. From the time of day he estimated it unlikely for the party to arrive this very day – no, if Robb Stark had any sense he would demand to spend the last night near the capital and enter the city in the morning, refreshed and ready to meet the challenges of the day.

That's what he would do in his shoes.

Stannis looked around the room. It was neat as always – he insisted on it – but could do with some organising. The treatises to do with the North had already been dug up from their dusty storage but needed to be laid out and ordered according to the topic. He ran a finger atop a book shell and it coming off dirty called for his senior scribe to do something about it.

With an army of cleaners and junior scribes flooding the room Stannis left to find something else important to do. Oddly enough, usually his hours were filled with urgent matters to deal with, but now he found himself reluctant to attend to any of them. He moved on to the throne room deep in thought, rubbing his chin as he walked.

This meeting was important, _very_ important. The loyalty of the North he had already been promised, but there was still the question of the Riverlands and the Vale. Old Hoster Tully was on his deathbed and after he was gone his son Edmure was to become a new lord. What Stannis knew of the youth was that he was not a military or political strategist and would undoubtedly listen to the advice of his – if not older, at least more experienced – kin Lord Robb, as well that of his sister Lady Catelyn.

As for the Vale… nobody knew what was really going on there, but whispers had recently reached the capital about Petyr Baelish having been sighted there, and it bore no good. Stannis needed insight to the Vale, its conditions, its people, and its moods. His approaching visitors might provide that.

Then there was the matter of Sansa Stark. And the token that Ser Davos carried – as he didn't doubt for a moment that there wouldn't be one. Lady Sansa was a great lady and courteous, and not to respond his message would be beneath her.

But what kind of token – and what colours would it bear?

Suddenly a thought so horrendous hit Stannis that it stopped him right in his tracks. He had just entered the Great Hall, which was almost empty at this time of day bar a small group of servants sweeping the floor at the other end. The dust they raised with their brooms floated lazily in the air but Stannis hardly noticed it, so taken aback was he with his realisation.

Lord Robb might have wanted to come down south to negotiate a marriage deal for his sister.

What better opportunity to do that but in person? Many of the great lords or their representatives resided in Stannis's court and it would be easy to open up the talks with any of them. If the Young Wolf was as astute as his military campaigns suggested, he – or his advisers - would have realised by now how vulnerable the lack of southern alliances made House Stark. Had they had close kin in the court at the time of Ned Stark's handship, things might have turned out quite differently…

Stannis had to sit, and so he plumped down on the first available seat; a low stool next to the throne usually reserved for the members of the Small Council when the court was in session.

Whom would he seek to betroth her?

There was House Tyrell, its heir Willas being of age and yet unmarried. The house was rich and powerful – a perfect ally. And House Martell, young Quentyn in need of a bride sooner or later.

Stannis felt sick in a stomach. If that was in Lord Robb's mind, and if Sansa's token did not carry a sign of her favour… it was a natural thing to ask the king's permission when two great houses were negotiating a treaty like that.

Would he be forced to give his blessing to a union that would take her irrevocably away from him?

The nervous energy incited by the news and his distressing suspicions sustained Stannis throughout the rest of the evening and the night. If anyone had told him that someday he would find himself tossing and turning restlessly in his bed because of a woman – a girl – he would have thought them mad. _He_ thought himself mad – but it didn't help the flutter at the bottom of his stomach, didn't prevent the cold sweat swelling on his temples when he thought of the possibilities.

 _Tomorrow._

He would know, one way or another.

* * *

The morning was sunny and clear, a perfect weather to cross the last little distance towards King's Landing.

The whole court seemed to have picked up the tension of its king, lords and ladies wandering around aimlessly waiting for the guests' arrival, servants scurrying around in various preparations. Stannis presided over a meeting of his council, then dismissed them but warned them not to go too far.

He wanted to make an impression on Lord Stark and had planned to greet him in the Great Hall, sitting on the Iron Throne. As much as he usually despised such cheap theatrics, he was shrewd enough to know that sometimes they did have a purpose. The young lord had never been in the capital, had probably never seen anything bigger than the halls of Winterfell and Riverrun, and it would not go astray to remind him of the power and prestige of the throne.

After the initial greetings Stannis planned to continue interactions in more amenable surroundings. Briefly he wondered who the council members Stark was bringing with him were. He recalled hearing that his lady mother, the indomitable Lady Catelyn, had often been mentioned as his foremost adviser; had she come along? And if she had, where did it leave Lady Sansa, sent alone to his kin to Riverrun?

The thought of her was exactly what Stannis didn't need and he pushed it away – but only after giving another fleeting thought to the fact that if her mother was such sound political advisor, maybe her daughter would grow up to be one too…

Mid-morning came and went, and soon the noon bells were ringing. And yet no sight of the party.

Stannis grew more irritated by the moment. True, there was no specific known time of arrival, but from the message he had received the day before they couldn't be far. Furthermore, soon after the midday meal, which he took in his study while browsing through documents, he received another word stating that the party likely to be the one he was waiting for had been seen entering the city gates already hours ago.

If so, where _were_ they?

Stannis left his rooms and passed through the grand courtyard, walked to the stables, wound his way into the lower corridors of the keep, not knowing where he planned to go and not caring if he ended up there or not. The stiff courtly attire he wore due to the important occasion started to chafe and he had to open up his collar to let cool air breeze through. Thank the gods he had not worn the crown but left it with a trusted man to keep an eye on in the Great Hall, only planning to adorn it at the last minute. The bloody thing was slightly too tight but he hadn't bothered to have it enlarged as yet.

Back to the yard, then to his study, sitting down only to jump up again walk to the window, Stannis waited. And waited.

 _What on earth is keeping them?_

* * *

Stannis was sitting on his desk studying the latest letter from the Iron Bank in deep concentration. He had to find coin to pay them at least part of the debt owed, but where could he locate such sums? Maybe if he taxed the taverns as per the strength of ale and wine they sold, he could…

His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of heavy running steps and a breathless exclamation from the door.

"They are here, Your Grace!"

All the thoughts of Iron Bank disappeared like a puff of smoke in the thin air and Stannis jumped up. Finally!

The pre-rehearsed plan fell into motion and soon the whole court had gathered in the cavernous hall, men sombrely clad and ladies in their fineries. Members of the Small Council were sitting spread out on both sides of the throne, the stool belonging to the Hand of the King left vacant.

Stannis settled himself on the throne, in vain trying to find a comfortable position. _Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown_ were the words of an old play by the famous poet from Westerlands but Stannis thought it would have been apter had it been _Uneasy sits the arse of one who wears a crown._ He could hardly wait until this mockery was over and he could step down.

Distant sounds of a party riding to the yard could be heard through the windows; men shouting, horses whinnying. A low murmur of discussion filled the hall, people talking to each other and looking between the throne and the door. Had any of them been there when Lord Rickard and his eldest son had been done to death in this very same hall, Stannis wondered, then shuddered. What barbarian act it had been – and politically most unwise.

The tall doors started to creak open, two heavy wooden sides inching apart step by step. The castellan entered and cleared his throat.

"Your Grace, may I present to you Lord Robb of House Stark, with his retinue."

Stepping aside the man made way to a group of people who now entered. Half a dozen in the front row, flanked by perhaps ten more behind them.

A young man with dark auburn hair and strikingly blue eyes led the procession. What he lacked in years he compensated with an aura of authority many commanders never gained no matter how old they were. Stannis studied him, imagining he could detect a hint of Lady Sansa in her brother.

Next to the man was a tall woman – of course, Lady Catelyn. Stannis had met her a few times over the years and although it had been a while since the last, she hadn't changed much. A few more grooves on her forehead, round face of a maid having been carved into the sharp features of a great lady. She held her head high and glided more than walked – like a true queen.

Then a large man, tall and muscled with grey-streaked hair and beard, whom Stannis identified as Lord Umber, the one they called Greatjon. Another woman, this one short and stout and likewise grey of hair. Stannis found it interesting how the Stark had not one but two women among his closest council – but then again, women of the North were not like their Southern counterparts, Maege Mormont being a prime example of that.

Then two men whom he didn't know but assumed to represent other noble houses of the North. Well, time would come soon when they would be introduced. And Ser Davos, only slightly aside from the main group. Seeing his Hand warmed Stannis more than he would have presumed – it was good to have him back.

The group proceeded through the corridor people had created by withdrawing to the sides, but none of them seemed to pay attention to their surroundings but focussed on the man on the throne.

Stannis straightened himself in preparation for greeting them formally when a movement and a flash of something bright behind the front row caught his eye. He saw a woman, pulling down her dark-hued cloak and passing it to a man beside her. Among the rest of the colours that were dark greens, browns and greys, as sombre as the North itself, thus revealed unexpected blaze of colour stood out like the finest destrier among the pack of mules.

Flash of…yellow?

The two men unknown to him moved slightly apart and between them – Lady Sansa.

Stannis's heart lurched into his throat and lodged itself there, the words already on his lips withering and dying there without a sound.

What was she doing here?

Why had she returned?

As she got closer Stannis could take a better look at her. She was as beautiful as she had been in his dreams, her long hair tied loosely back and flowing down her shoulders. And the dress -

\- the dress –

Stannis saw it but his eyes refuse to believe it - and yet.

It was so _yellow…_

The gown was bright yellow, the split cut revealing different yellow sleeves. The panel in the front was likewise yellow, although again a different tone, as were the decorative trimmings on the waist and down the skirt in the front. Even the satin shoes peeking from under the hem of her skirts were yellow, and to top it all off, she had yellow ribbons wound into her hair.

Stannis stared at the sight walking towards him like a man dying of thirst looks at a pail of water. She was so _bright_. And she was walking towards _him_.

Finally having reached the steps to the throne the whole group stopped, men and the Mormont woman bowing their head and Lady Catelyn and Lady Sansa dropping into a curtsey.

Still, Stannis saw only her, and when she straightened herself and raised her face towards him he saw a shy smile on her lips, a smile that soon spread almost to a grin so unladylike he could hardly reconcile it with the lady he knew. Yet it was infectious and Stannis felt something tugging at the corners of his own mouth.

And so it was that the court and the people of Red Keep that day witnessed the most unusual sight, a sight so rare that people talked about it years afterwards.

Stannis of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, smiled.


	12. EPILOGUE

**Author's Notes:** OK, I promise, this time it is _really_ over. No more chapters. No more snippets. Done. The End. Finito. Die Ende. Fin. Loppu.

This fic has been a riot to write – this really took over me and I found myself more often than what is healthy thinking about this is and how to weave the story … I can still see many interesting avenues ahead, not the least a wonderfully angsty story where King Stannis appoints one Sandor Clegane to watch over his queen and maybe their first-born, and what ensues is a triangle of conflicting emotions and desires… But alas, time to explore something else next.

* * *

 **Part 1: By his side**

"What took you so long? I expected your arrival by midday the latest, having heard about your entrance to the city."

"I am sorry, Your Grace. We did arrive earlier, but we were detained because Lady Sansa had urgent matters she had to take care of. I thought we were not so much in a hurry that we couldn't allow her that little time, especially as she was so adamant about it. I do apologise."

"What matters?"

Ser Davos's face wrinkled into a curious mixture of incredulity and bewilderment.

"I never took her keen on frivolities like some other maidens, dresses and such, but she insisted she had to see a dressmaker and get a new dress before we entered the Red Keep. She was told that there would be plenty of time afterwards and that it was impolite to demand such things at such time, but she was most determined that it had to be now."

Stannis's strides were as before, resolute and gaining, but he felt as if he was floating in the air. Never before in his whole life had he experienced such lightness of being, or such joy of being alive. Colours and scents and sounds surrounding him and attacking his newly awakened senses were bright and fresh and wholly novel to him.

If Ser Davos noticed the difference he was discreet enough not to remark on it. After the official greetings in the Great Hall had been concluded – after Stannis had found his faculties again after the shocking revelation – the parties had separated with an agreement that the guests would settle into their lodgings and they would meet again for dinner.

Stannis had greeted all of his guests separately, but briefly muttered "Your Grace" and "Lady Sansa" had not been nearly enough to fulfil his curiosity about her – hence he had taken the first opportunity to drag Ser Davos away with him.

"Why is Lady Sansa with you anyway? Wasn't she supposed to continue to Riverrun?"

"Didn't you invite her return, Your Grace?"

They had almost reached Stannis's study but before entering, Stannis stopped and looked at his friend, his hand on the door latch.

"What do you mean?"

Ser Davos studied him, sharp-eyed.

"We met on the road as planned and all the arrangements were made for her to continue to Riverrun - but then your message arrived and I gave it to her. And the next day she demanded to return with us. It was most perplexing, especially as she had been so keen to leave the capital. So I simply assumed that you had asked her to return."

Avoiding his scrutiny Stannis fumbled at the door.

"No, I did not. It was not my command nor my wish at the time. Did she say so?"

"No - she said that all she wanted was to be with her family and if her brother and mother were going to King's Landing, that's where she would go to too. It made sense at the time, I suppose. She was able to convince her brother and mother at least."

The men entered the room in silence. Stannis had more questions, but for now, he savoured the information he had just received. _She decided to return after receiving the message._ _She insisted the whole entourage to wait until she found herself a dress – a yellow dress. With yellow undersleeves, shoes and ribbons._

If there ever had been a message delivered clear and loud, this was it.

The two men settled down on their usual spots, Stannis on his high-backed chair behind the desk, Davos on a bench leaning against the wall on his left, next to the fireplace. It was not lit, the day being warm, but on cool evenings they had spent countless hours sitting exactly so while fire had crackled and spread its wood smoke aromas across the room.

"And the matter with the dress?" Stannis wondered if Sansa had shared his message with her lady mother – and if it had been _she_ who had insisted on the spectacle. If Stannis recalled correctly Lady Catelyn had been in favour of a royal marriage before - had she her eyes on a new match?

Had Sansa made her mind on her own after all?

The thought of it made him wary. Could she be following orders of her family after all; had he made a terrible mistake by approaching her directly? Was he being played a fool?

"I wondered if it had to do with you as well, Your Grace. Lady Catelyn didn't approve it at all – she thought it frivolous and unnecessary. We went to a dressmaker's shop near the Street of Looms and Lady Sansa wanted a yellow dress, which in itself is unusual colour. The first shop only had the shoes and the sleeves and so the dressmaker sent his assistants to all the neighbouring shops and they ran and back and forth with their finds until finally she was happy."

"And you know this because...?" Stannis would have thought details such as this were beneath the Hand of the King.

"I made it my matter to know. I recommended her the dressmaker - one of our men has kin apprenticed there and at my request he could name a few names where to go. I thought that if she was doing what she did at the behest of Your Grace, I needed to assist her any way I could. And even if she was not - she is a lovely young lady and if I can offer her aid when she needs it and there is no harm to you or the realm doing so, I will."

The relief flooded over Stannis. With it, a wry amusement. Yet another man charmed by Lady Sansa - she seemed to have that effect on people. Yet he knew Ser Davos to be devoted to his Marya and paternal feelings more than anything else likely to be behind his behaviour.

"No, I asked her to do no such thing. Yet I am glad you helped her."

"I thought if it was your instructions she followed, I might be able to help her more should she decide to confide in me."

"And did she? Did she tell you about my note?"

Davos shook road dust from his cloak and Stannis realised that he too would likely want to go his lodgings and change away from his travelling clothes. Well, he would let him go soon enough.

"No. I don't think she shared the note with anyone, not even the fact that she received it. Lord Robb and Lady Catelyn never raised it, nor questioned how well she was acquainted with Your Grace."

"Good."

Davos had observed him intensely and opened his mouth but then closed it without saying a word – but too late, Stannis having caught it.

"What is it, Ser Davos? Speak up if you have something to say. You have my leave," he assured, in case there was something Davos was unsure of bringing up but what he needed to know .

"It is not my position to speculate about its contents – but I can presume what it was about."

Stannis was used to sharing most things with his right-hand man, so why should this be different? Even if it was about his most private matters that he would never dream of revealing to others. Besides, his gamble had paid off after all.

"And you might be right. Yes, I asked her."

There was no need to specify what.

"And she said yes?" Davos's face split into a wide grin. "And the dress?"

"A token of hers, her favourable stance signified with a hint of yellow," Stannis replied stiffly, not being used to discuss such matters.

"A hint?!" Davos laughed out, unusually exuberantly for someone whose general approach to life was calm and contained. "Allow me be the first to congratulate you, Your Grace, for such excellent news!"

"You may," Stannis said gruffly. There were still things to do; most of all negotiations with Lord Robb – and Lady Catelyn – to seal the matter, but he was confident. Whatever it would take, whatever concessions he had to give – she was worth it.

Stannis leant back in his chair and tugged at the annoying collar of his impractical attire while letting his gaze sweep across the room. Desks and chairs in a neat order, books and scrolls lining the shelves and bookcases, jars of ink and rows of quills lined up like an army of little soldiers - the pulsating core of the Seven Kingdoms in this study, _his_ study. Finally, his life was becoming what he had always dreamt of it to be; a realm emerging from the chaos of war with the help of law and order and justice, he having the absolute power put things in order and to do his duty.

And by his side the man he trusted more than anyone else, his advisor, his confidant, his friend. And soon by his other side the woman who was like no one else; beautiful and enchanting, kind and capable, a true lady and yet an innocent maiden – and one who _wanted_ to be his.

Stannis sighed.

Life was going to be good.

* * *

 **Part 2: By his other side**

"Lady Sansa?"

They were alone – finally.

She stood by the window, had been there when he had entered the room, turning her head towards him. It had taken Stannis's breath away to see her thus, sunlight falling on her face and glimmering in her hair.

"Your Grace." She prepared to curtsey but Stannis hastened to her side and placed his hand on her arm.

"No need for that, my lady. You may recall me telling you so once already. Not when we are in private."

She smiled – the smile Stannis had conjured in his mind so many times that he felt as if he knew it intimately by now. The curve of the lip, the parting of them revealing a row of small white teeth.

Then an awkward silence. He let go of her arm but didn't move away.

It all had gone well, even better than he had expected. The dinner the previous evening had been convivial, and although Sansa had been seated far away from him, Stannis had been able to steal a few glimpses of her – attired in a different dress by then, one of those he had ordered to be made.

Sansa had been seated next to Princess Shireen and to Stannis's satisfaction the two of them seemed to have been engaged in an amicable conversation all through the evening. Shireen had been restrained and downcast since her arrival but Sansa's company appeared to draw her out of her shell and for the first time Stannis saw her smiling.

And the first thing in the morning, before opening up the official talks, Stannis had requested a private word with Lord Robb and Lady Catelyn. Strictly speaking only Robb was required, but Stannis had observed the close bond between the mother and the daughter during the meal and wanting nothing to go wrong, had decided to include her in the talks.

They had been astonished by his bluntness and alarmed at first. Lady Catelyn had spoken about Sansa's young age and distressing experiences in the court, but Stannis had assured her that he sought nothing that her daughter was not ready to give willingly.

They had left him then and returned mere half an hour later with their blessings. The betrothal was to be announced that evening during the celebratory meal. The trade concessions Stannis later yielded to were easy to him, and so was his promise to send the troops of the crown with Lord Robb to take back Winterfell and restore order in the North - even if Ser Davos had looked at him in disbelief of the casual manner he had agreed to all the terms Lord Robb had proposed and then some more. Nothing so trivial mattered – only her.

"Your brother and lady mother – they spoke to you this morning?"

"Yes, they did. They were only thinking of my welfare, not wanting to force me to do anything I might not wish. I hope you understand that Your Grace, it was not meant as an offence towards you."

Stannis frowned. "I would only be offended if they _did_ compel you to do something against your wish."

She had not moved and once again Stannis sensed the warmth of her body heat. He closed his eyes for a second and immediately the nights he had spent imagining her flooded his mind – things he had done to her, shameful things, things not proper for a lady, some of which he was not even sure were possible – and to his chagrin Stannis felt the heat rising to his cheeks. By the gods, he was blushing!

He opened his eyes again and caught her studying him intently. There was colour on her cheeks too, oddly enough.

Stannis reached closer again, touching the loose end of a ribbon tying the auburn hair, one of those she had worn at her arrival. The satin felt smooth and its yellow shone brightly in the daylight.

"Are you…sure about this?"

Sansa looked down at his fingers playing with the ribbon, then back at him.

"I am sure."

"Why?"

What on earth made him ask such a loaded question when he should have just accepted things as they were and not question his good luck. But he had to know.

"Because… because you are kind. And just. And honourable. And I know you will treat me well."

"You do not wish to return home, after all you have been through?" Stannis wanted to kick himself but it was too late, the words had already left his lips.

"I do – if that is acceptable to Your Grace. You mentioned I could… I wish to see my home again, see order restored to it and my family settled there once more. But I know how things are. I will be married sooner or later and I will leave my home to live in the household of my lord husband. That is the way of the world and that is my duty." Her tone was calm. "And I am fine with it. I _do_ desire a family of my own, my own place in the world. But most of all I want to have a say with whom that will happen."

"I am not a man maidens dream of when they think of husbands," Stannis huffed. "I am not as fool as to think that."

"No, you are not. But you are more. My lord father once told me that he will make me a match with someone who's worthy of me, someone brave and gentle and strong. You are all these things, even though you may refute it."

Stannis was astounded. Brave and gentle and strong? He liked to think that he could be considered brave and strong – he had proven that in the battlefield often enough. But gentle?

As if reading his thoughts Sansa seized his hand and squeezed it lightly. "You have gentleness in your heart although it may not be obvious at first. Yet I know it, I have seen it, Your Grace. And I wish to see more."

Stannis's fingers twined between hers, his rough fingertips brushing against her soft skin. So it was true, as unbelievable as it sounded. She really _did_ want him for his own sake. His head was spinning and he struggled to get control of it.

"Stannis."

"Your Grace?"

"You can call me Stannis when we are alone. We are betrothed, after all."

"Stannis." His name from her mouth sounded like a caress and Stannis's stomach clenched. "Please call me Sansa."

"Sansa."

How it was possible that a simple thing as addressing each other by their given names created such a sense of intimacy, privacy and closeness. The rest of the world disappeared, the Red Keep, King's Landing, whole Westeros… it was just the two of them.

Somehow they had moved closer so that her face was only inches away from his, looking up at him with an expression of wonderment and softness he had never seen so close. Suddenly a temptation grabbed Stannis – could he? Would she be taken aback if he did? Just a brief one, just a symbolic sealing of the agreement – surely it would be proper? Yet he was not an uncouth man and would not seek to force her against her will.

"Sansa," -that novel sense of intimacy again - "would it be appropriate to give my bride a betrothal kiss? Only if you agree to it," he added hastily.

She didn't voice her acquiescence but rose on her toes and offered her lips to him wordlessly.

And the kiss was like nothing Stannis had ever experienced; it was soft, it was gentle, and once she opened her mouth a little for him to explore it with his tongue, it was breathless, it was exciting, it made blood roar in his veins.

A promise of things to come.

Yes, life was good.

 **THE END**


End file.
